


Poisoned Mushrooms

by YamBits



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bath Sex, Between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Elves, Family, Family Feels, Flashbacks to Bilbo being sweet and/or a hilarious asshole, Focus on Frodo and Merry’s friendship, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Frodo caring for Sam, Frottage, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbits, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Libraries, Light Angst, Longing, Lots of tender moments between Frodo and Sam, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Friendship, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre-Quest, Protective Hobbits, Protective Sam, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Supernatural Elements, The Hobbit References, Work In Progress, accurate depictions of old timey legal documents, an amount of angst, angry mobs, but cozy horror, mild drug use, protective Frodo, sets up events in Fellowship, spies in the Shire, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 219,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits/pseuds/YamBits
Summary: "There is a possibility that danger may come from outside the Shire," Gandalf said, "and that it will come seeking Frodo. I do not know what form it might take, but if it comes, Frodo must not face it alone."“... Something from outside the Shire? Like out of Mr. Bilbo's tales...?” the Gaffer asked. He was bewildered by the wizard's fears but he didn't question them. He knew the old conjurer was wise. “Well sir, of course we won't abide any harm coming to our master, but I'm an old hobbit gardener. I can't see me doing much good...” the Gaffer stopped and peered up at Gandalf, silent for a moment, “Tisn't about me your speaking...” he stared a moment longer, feeling a cold dread fill his belly, “You want my Sam, don't you?” he asked softly. Gandalf nodded slowly.Frodo's friends conspire to defend him against strange accidents and dark figures drawn to Bag End. As the world gets darker, Frodo and Sam find themselves growing closer. Set a year before the Journey.





	1. Prologue

Hamfast Gamgee sipped his ale and stared out into the darkened countryside. The night was clear and the sky above shone with stars, though an occasional puff of smoke drifted overhead; either from the fires farther down in the Party Field, or from the fireworks. He was about to set his mug down and go in when he heard shuffling footsteps coming closer. The gardener paused and craned his neck out, spying a tall shape, ambling up the lane. It was a Big Person, and not just any Big Person, but Gandalf the conjurer. Hamfast watched him come closer, curiously. He had work for Bilbo Baggins for sixty years or more, so he had seen the old wizard a time or two, but never so close. Big People tended to make hobbits nervous and the Gaffer was no exception; but he had also heard Bilbo speak fondly of the wizard, and if Bilbo Baggins set good stock by someone, the Gaffer respected that. He stood politely and tipped his cap.  
  
“Good evening,” he said. The wizard paused and then slowly reached up to tip his own broad brimmed hat.  
  
“Good evening, Master,” the wizard said, “A rare night is it not?”  
  
“Aye sir,” the Gaffer replied, “Good wind and cool. And of course tis'nt every night that the Master of the Hill comes a hundred and eleven, and the young Master comes of age.”  
  
“You enjoyed the party then?” Gandalf asked, sounding a little surprised. The Gaffer had to chuckle.  
  
“I have known Mr. Bilbo for most of my life. I don't get surprised by the unexpected. Not from him.” Gandalf eyed him closer, a smile on the old weathered face.  
  
“Master Gamgee, isn't it?”  
  
“Hamfast Gamgee at your service,” the Gaffer bowed.  
  
“Bilbo's gardener,” Gandalf mused quietly, looking thoughtful, “Bag End has some of the prettiest gardens this side of the Misty Mountains, if I may say without too much exaggeration. I have always enjoyed sitting under the trellis amongst the flowers.” The Gaffer pulled out his pipe, very pleased at the wizard's words.  
  
“That is kind of you to say Mr. Gandalf. Can I offer you some pipe weed?” he asked. The wizard stepped forward and bent, thanking him kindly as he took out his own pipe. “I can't take full credit for the gardens of course,” the Gaffer said, measuring out the weed, “My youngest lad has taken over most of the duties, what with my joints being stiff these days. The lad has done me proud, if I may say.”  
  
“Quite proud,” Gandalf agreed, “That is the way of things... Passing a task on to the next generation when the time comes... Yes. That is the way that things should be.”  
  
“Aye sir, tis natural,” the Gaffer nodded.  
  
“Natural, yes,” Gandalf said thoughtfully and they sank into silence as they smoked. The Gaffer couldn't fathom why the wizard was taking time to smoke with a hobbit gardener, but he didn't mind the wizard's manner. In some ways the far off looks reminded him of Bilbo.  
  
“Your youngest lad is Sam?” the wizard asked suddenly.  
  
“Yes sir,” the Gaffer said, surprised, “Samwise.”  
  
“And does Samwise like working at Bag End? I know the Bagginses aren't the most respectable hobbits anymore.”  
  
“You think he minds that?” the Gaffer had to catch himself from laughing, “Oh Samwise is moony for all that adventure talk,” he paused and bowed, “I beg your pardon sir. Didn't mean any disrespect. We know the quality of Mr. Bilbo, adventuresomeness or no.”  
  
“Oh, of course,” Gandalf said graciously, “Well, I'm glad to hear that the Gamgees are sensible about the whole thing. Bilbo has always spoken very highly of your family.” the Gaffer felt himself flush.  
  
“We Gamgees are devoted to Mr. Bilbo,” he said.  
  
“Frodo too?” Gandalf asked quietly.  
  
“Of course Mr. Frodo too,” the Gaffer added, puffing, “He's a fine polite lad.”  
  
“I see,” Gandalf said looking out into the night. Silence fell again for a moment before Gandalf said, “Master Gamgee, I have to admit I am a bit worried about Frodo.”  
  
“About Mr. Frodo sir?”  
  
“Bilbo has left, you know. I mean, really left for good,” Gandalf added quietly. Gaffer Gamgee put his pipe down and stared at the wizard.  
  
“...Left?”  
  
“Left the Shire,” Gandalf said gently, “And he doesn't mean to come back.”  
  
“Oh,” the Gaffer puffed, feeling his throat tighten unexpectedly, “Oh... I. He talked of it...”  
  
“I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean to upset you,” the wizard said kindly.  
  
“Nay sir,” the Gaffer said, still reeling, "I just thought he would say goodbye, at least."  
  
“He didn't tell anyone goodbye, not even Frodo,” Gandalf said, “I think the old fellow hates goodbyes.”  
  
“Yes sir,” the Gaffer said, pulling himself back together, trying not to show the sudden anger he felt toward his master. It wasn't right him leaving Mr. Frodo all on his own. And to go off without a word-!  
  
“I am very sorry to have to break it to you like this,” Gandalf said kindly. The Gaffer blinked at him.  
  
“And Mr. Frodo knows?”  
  
“Yes. I've just come down the Hill.”  
  
“Is he alright?” Ham asked. He knew it wasn't his place to ask such a thing, but he couldn't abide not asking. Not when he might do something to make the evening easier for the boy to bear. Even if it was clearing out party guests from a party that would have lost it's fun for the young master.  
  
“I think so. He will be, anyway,” Gandalf said. Ham stayed silent a moment.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo asked me to look after Mr. Frodo. Makes sense now. I couldn't fathom what for, with Mr. Frodo of age and hasn't needed looking after for years now...”  
  
“I told Bilbo that I would look in on Frodo from time to time, but I won't be about very often,” Gandalf mused.  
  
“Not to worry sir, we'll see to him,” the Gaffer assured him, looking up to meet the wizard's gaze. Gandalf smiled.  
  
“It does ease my heart to know there is a friendly family close at hand to care for the lad, but I must admit that isn't what bothers me,” Gandalf paused, “Bilbo trusts you, completely, he said,” the wizard stopped again, chewing on his pipe and the Gaffer kept quiet, bewildered. “I am worried that Frodo will not enjoy the same peace that Bilbo had; that his fate will be darker,” Gandalf sighed and gave the Gaffer a long look, until Hamfast felt uncomfortable and Gandalf finally relented, “You are a good hobbit. I don't want to burden you, but I have no choice but to involve the good.”  
  
“...Sir?” the Gaffer said finally, “Sir, I'm sorry?” Gandalf bowed his head.  
  
“I beg your pardon master Gamgee. Let me speak plainly; there is a slight, perhaps very slight possibility that danger may come from outside the Shire, and that it will come seeking Frodo. I do not know what form it might take, but if it comes, Frodo must not face it alone.” The wizard turned and again fixed the Gaffer with a keen look. “It is vital that he not face it alone. If what I fear comes to pass and the danger finds Frodo beyond my help, then he may fall to it.”  
  
“... Something from outside the Shire? Like out of Mr. Bilbo's tales...?” the Gaffer asked and the wizard nodded slowly. Hamfast was bewildered by the wizard's fears but he didn't question them. He knew the old conjurer was wise.  
  
“Well sir, of course we won't abide any harm coming to our master, but I'm an old hobbit gardener. I can't see me doing much good...” the Gaffer stopped and peered up at Gandalf, silent for a moment, “Tisn't about me your speaking...” he stared a moment longer, feeling a cold dread fill his belly, “You want my Sam, don't you?” he asked softly. Gandalf nodded slowly. The Gaffer bit down on his pipe and stared out into the darkness. “But he's a gardener too, and he hasn't a magic sword like Mr. Bilbo, nor the bravery or wits to stand against any creature,” the Gaffer said, feeling distressed by the seriousness in the wizard's face. “What sort of danger do you fear, sir?”  
  
“I can't say,” Gandalf said darkly.  
  
“Aye, but you'd not be giving me such a serious warning if it weren't the worst sort of thing from Mr. Bilbo's tales.” Bilbo Baggins had told the Gaffer some of the truth of his adventure, late at night when the old hobbits sank into their mugs by the fire and spoke honestly to one another. In those times Bilbo had described some of the horror of his journey, not the cheerful tale he told the little lads and lasses at parties, but the true tale, with the cold and wet, the terror of being trapped and at the mercy of wicked creatures, and of the stink of fear and death all about him. The Gaffer had a sudden vision of a great terror on the horizon, biding its time and waiting to cross the boarders, into the Shire, surrounding their little hill. “My Sam... why, he's hardly more than a babe,” the Gaffer said, and to his embarrassment heard his voice crack.  
  
“He won't be forever. He's growing strong,” Gandalf said, “Master, I don't know when, or even if this danger will come to pass; in fact I will do everything in my power to see that it does not. But I cannot control Frodo's fate, only guard him, the best ways that I can.”  
  
“By involving my lad in some wizard-errand?” the Gaffer could feel himself growing upset, “the Bagginses may be suited for adventures but a Gamgee isn't. A Gamgee's place is in the cabbages and potatoes, not getting involved in things too big for him.”  
  
“You said that Sam is devoted to his master,” Gandalf said quietly, “If Frodo were to go into danger, do you think Sam would not follow?” the Gaffer went cold and stared at the wizard, wide eyed. He put his pipe back in his mouth, unable to answer for a moment.  
  
“... Seems I've no say in the matter,” he said finally, bitterness in his voice.  
  
“Of course you have a say in it, master,” Gandalf said soothingly, “He is your son.”  
  
“Aye, he's my son, and he listens to me, minds me, is right good,” the Gaffer sighed. “Except when it comes to that lad on the hill. He would make a point of following Mr. Frodo into danger, whether I give him leave or no.” The Gaffer closed his eyes and took his pipe out of his mouth, blowing smoke into the air, and watched it drift away in silence. He sighed and said, “Aye then, what do you want me to do, sir?”  
  
“Do not discourage his closeness with Frodo. And when the time comes, don't stop your Sam from following his master,” Gandalf said, “You must let him go and you must not question his leaving.”  
  
“Even if it means the death of him?” Gaffer Gamgee said in a tired voice.  
  
“Yes,” Gandalf agreed, sounding sad, “I would not ask did I not fear that more lives than your son's hang in the balance.” he said and bent to hold out his hand. The Gaffer looked at it, mistrustfully.  
  
“My Sam means the world to me,” he said, “And I don't hold with him going off and adventuring.” He stuck his chin out defiantly and stared up at the wizard, as fiercely as he knew how. Gandalf stared back, but he didn't look angry, only thoughtful. “And I warned him all the reading and poetry would lead him to a bad end, well,” he laughed bitterly, “well, see if it doesn't.” He took a breath and put his pipe in his mouth drawing the soothing smoke in. He let it out and closed his eyes, continuing in a quieter voice, “... My old cousin Holman always said, whatever is in a hobbit's heart, held dearest there- that will be his fate. For Sam I would choose the garden, and a lass and babes to be closest to his heart, but if this danger comes upon us, he won't have that. All that hangs in your balance too,” the Gaffer went quiet and scowled, “... You'll protect him? And Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“With my life,” Gandalf said and the Gaffer looked up, wondering that the wizard would joke about something like this, but Gandalf's face was serious. The Gaffer looked hard at the wizard, then reluctantly lifted his hand. The wizard clasped the gardener's hand and the two stared at one another.  
  
“I trust him to you sir,” the Gaffer said.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Gamgee,” the wizard said quietly.


	2. Mistaking Mushrooms

Frodo stood in front of the stove, cooking mushrooms and humming softly under his breath. In the sixteen years since Bilbo had departed, Frodo had found himself slipping into his uncle’s role easily, somewhat to his surprise, and that he even enjoyed parts of his new life. He liked walking the country and tending to his tenants and their holes. It was a bit lonely, but Frodo was discovering that at heart he was a private hobbit and enjoyed his own company and the peace of solitude. At least most of the time. He still threw wildly indulgent parties, keeping up Bilbo's tradition best he could.  
  
He glanced up and looked out the window. Occasionally he did crave the company of family, or at least someone who would treat him as himself, and not his title. Samwise Gamgee could in rare instances fill this role, if Frodo caught him in a particularly relaxed mood or worked on him long enough to put the gardener at ease. They'd known one another long enough certainly, but ever since Frodo had become Master of the Hill, Sam had seemed to decide that Frodo was too busy to pay much attention to him. There was some truth to that, much as Frodo regretted it. If he wanted rowdy companionship from hobbits who didn't give even the smallest wit about his position, he looked to his cousins and friends, Merry Brandybuck, Fatty Bolger and Pippin Took; and they were scheduled to arrive later in the day. Frodo stuck a fork into one of the juicy mushrooms in the pan and popped it into his mouth. He chewed reflectively, then set the fork down and pushed the window open.  
  
“Sam?” he called. There was quiet on the hill for a long moment and Frodo wondered if Sam have moved to the back of the hill or gone to the potting shed. A cool morning breeze stirred the bushes and trees and Frodo caught the faint sweet scent of gardenia. He closed his eyes and breathed it in. It was his favorite flower in all of the garden.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?”  
  
Frodo opened his eyes, spotting Sam ambling around the corner, spade in hand.  
  
“Did you call me, sir?” Sam asked.  
  
“Yes, I did,” Frodo said, leaning out the window. “Come into the kitchen if you've a moment to spare, I’ve got some mushrooms cooked up.” He was looking forward to his visitors, but he supposed he had best enjoy the quiet company of Sam while he could. Merry, Fatty and Pippin would throw Bag End into a noisy chaos for the next few days.  
  
“Thank you sir,” Sam said smiling and laying his spade down. Frodo absently picked up one of the raw mushrooms and munched contentedly, waiting on his gardener. Sam disappeared around the corner and a moment later entered the door into the kitchen.  
  
“I got these whites yesterday,” Frodo said cheerily and put his mushroom down to find a fork for Sam. “Have some from the pan. That’s the best way,” he said giving the fork to Sam. Sam looked delighted and took the fork, but as he did he glanced over at the basket of fresh shrooms on the counter. He frowned and returned the fork to the counter, stepping over to the basket.  
  
“What?” Frodo asked. Sam didn’t answer, but instead took one of the parasols and held it up for inspection, poking the gills and rubbing his fingers over the ridges. Frodo began to feel a little chagrined. “Really Sam, I bought these from the Cottons. I’m sure they’re-”  
  
“Sir, how many of these have you eaten?” Sam asked suddenly, his voice strained. Frodo stopped, a little taken aback by Sam’s tone and interruption.  
  
“Half a dozen or so,” he answered a little warily, “Why? What’s wrong?” Sam visibly paled and turned to look at his master with rounded eyes.  
  
“They’ve white spores. See?” he said, holding up the shroom. Frodo stood stock still, the hair rising on the back of his neck. Sam gulped and said, “Death cap.” Sure enough, every piece of mushrooming lore Frodo knew told him that Sam was right. There really was very little difference in the look of an ordinary white and its deadly cousin but from the slight difference in the cap’s shape to the white spores and wider spaced gills. He stared askance at the half eaten mushroom on the counter.  
  
“No,” Frodo said, feeling sick, “It's a mistake.” But he knew it wasn't and he stood there, frozen and gaping in horror. Sam didn't bother to contradict him; he dropped the mushroom back into the basket and was moving quickly into the back hall.  
  
“Sam?” Frodo cried, following him. Sam didn’t answer just pushed a door open, heading into one of the spare bedrooms. He dropped down on his knees and grasped a dingy looking trunk from under the bed, pulling it out. “What’s this?” Frodo asked, feeling the panic creeping into his voice. Sam opened the trunk and rummaged through several old small glass bottles, all with ribbon tied around them.  
  
“When I was a little thing I ate a bad leaf in the garden and Mr. Bilbo made me drink one of these potions,” Sam murmured. He pulled out one with a red ribbon on it and held it up to the light. “No,” he said, and put it back.  
  
“Sam, this is a bit different,” Frodo said, trying not to sound critical.  
  
“I know it, only,” Sam paused, pulling out another bottle, this one with a pink ribbon, “only, Mr. Bilbo showed me a dark coloured one and told me it was good for any poison. Oh!” He pulled another out and held it up. The liquid was a dark amber and the ribbon a deep red. Frodo looked at it nervously.  
  
“Are you sure that’s it?” he asked.  
  
“Sir,” Sam said anxiously, putting it into his hands.  
  
“…Right,” Frodo said. No point in worrying if he was poisoning himself if he had already eaten half a dozen of the most poisonous mushrooms in the Shire. He pulled the cork out and drank it all. It tasted sweet and left a burning sensation down his throat, like brandy. He coughed and handed the bottle back to Sam. Sam sat back, and watched him warily.  
  
“I feel a bit sick,” Frodo admitted, leaning against the bed.  
  
“Can’t be the mushroom, already,” Sam said.  
  
“No. Nerves I expect,” Frodo said a bit shakily. Sam blinked, then reached out and took his hand. Frodo smiled at him, then closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally. Ever since Sam had said ‘death cap’ his heart had been pounding and his stomach churning. He blanched suddenly and sank to the bed.  
  
“Oh,” Frodo gasped, “I think I really am going to be sick.” Sam’s eyes widened and he looked around wildly. He grabbed a dusty vase off the nightstand and thrust it into Frodo’s lap.  
  
“I’ll go find something better,” he said, rushing into the hall. Frodo’s stomach heaved and he decided to get it over with. So intent was he on emptying his stomach that he didn’t hear Sam come back. A hand settled on his shoulder and a cup of water was pressed into his hand.  
  
“Thanks,” Frodo managed. While Frodo composed himself Sam went off again, and came back in short order with a proper basin, which he gave to Frodo and took away the vase. Then he pulled Frodo to his feet and helped him into the parlor. Frodo sank down on the sofa, pale and disheveled. Sam looked at him, a worried frown darkening his face.  
  
“I need to go get help,” he said. “Will you be alright?” Frodo nodded, trying to not look pitiful as he felt. He saw the sense in getting a proper healer, but an irrational part of him desperately wanted Sam to stay.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” Sam told him and bolted out the door. Frodo groaned and clutched his basin tighter.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Sam tore down the hill, his feet pounding on the well-worn dirt. Widow Grubb lived just beyond the row and she knew as much about healing as anyone in Hobbiton. There weren’t any proper doctors closer than Bywater. Sam made straight for her hole. It was a small tidy place with a thick brick chimney protruding from the left side of the hill and most days a thin stream of smoke issued from it. Today, however the air was clear. Sam winced, at this as he reach the small brown door and pounded on it.  
  
“Mistress Grubb!” he called. He pounded the door again, but there was no answer. Sam let out a string of curses his Gaffer would have boxed him for and pounded the door in frustration.  
  
“Hoy! Sam!” a voice called from back at the road. Sam recognized the voice instantly and turned slowly, his face dark with anger. Nibs Cotton stared at him from Widow Grubb’s gate. Nibs swallowed nervously, seeing Sam’s expression. “What’s the trouble?” he asked. Sam ran at him so suddenly that Nibs could only manage a frightened squeak before Sam’s thick hands closed around his shirt collar and lifted him up.  
  
“Sam!” he squealed.  
  
“What do you mean by selling poisoned mushrooms to folks?” he growled. “There’s a sick hobbit up the hill cause of you!”  
  
“Poisoned?” Nibs gasped. “What do you mean by it Sam? You know me better than that! I’d never-”  
  
“Then why did Mr. Frodo have death caps for breakfast then?” Sam shouted.  
  
“Death cap?” Nibs gasped. Sam suddenly seemed too disgusted with him to carry the conversation further. He let go of Nibs and started running in the direction of Bywater.  
  
“Sam!” Nibs shouted, “Where are you going?”  
  
“Doctor Padfoot’s,” Sam shouted back over his shoulder.  
  
“He’s gone to Scary for the autumn fair,” Nibs shouted back. “Half of Bywater has. I’ve just got back from trying to sell our apples. There’s hardly anyone in town.” Sam stopped cold. He didn’t know of any other healers. He stalked back up the road, lost in thought. Nibs edged out of striking range and offered,  
  
“There’s Madam Malkin, in Waymeet, but you can’t run that. And she’s old.” Sam scowled at him and reached for his shirt collar again but Nibs dodged him and said quickly, “Sam, I can’t imagine that it was death cap. Our girls do the shrooming and they know everything about the mushrooms. There’s no way they could make a mistake like that! Maybe Mr. Frodo just got a stomach bug.”  
  
“I looked at the mushrooms meself, Nibs. I ain’t wrong,” Sam said, glaring at him.  
  
“If it was death cap he’d be dead, not sick,” Nibs said, exasperated.  
  
“I give him a potion from Mr. Bilbo’s old stocks, and anyway it hasn’t been that long,” Sam said, “Now are you going to stop giving me sauce and be of some help?”  
  
“I’ll do whatever you want, Sam,” Nibs said, “But I still-” he cut off with a warning look from Sam. “What do you need?” he said, irritation and indignation still clear in his expression.  
  
“Get your cart hitched up and take it to Waymeet and pick up Madam Malkin and bring her back here quick as you can,” Sam said. “You owe me at least that much, and Mr. Frodo more.”  
  
“That’s the family cart, Sam!” Nibs protested. “Da won’t let me just run off with it!” Sam scowled and stepped quickly toward Nibs. Nibs jumped back, and ran up the road. “Fine Sam! Fine! I’ll get the cart!” He disappeared over the rise. Sam only dithered for a moment. The remark about it not having been long enough for Frodo to be dead had made him think twice about the potion. He suddenly and desperately wanted to be back in Bag End’s parlor. He ought to tell his father first though. Sam winced and bolted up the row, trying to remember if the Gaffer was due at the Bracegirdle’s vegetable plot today.  
  
“Da!” he shouted and plunged through the door. “Da?”  
  
“Heaven sakes Sam,” Daisy said frowning at him from the stove, “What are you doing down here?”  
  
“Where’s Da?”  
  
“Work, which is where you should be,” Daisy said, glowering.  
  
“Aye,” he said and bolted off. Sam ran back up the row and followed the winding path around and up the Hill. Only after he pounded up the stone steps reaching the green door did it occurred to him that he might have enlisted Daisy to help, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He didn’t want to run back down the Hill now and anyway she knew less of healing than Sam did. He turned the shiny knob, lurching inside the hole, and felt a pang of impropriety about not knocking first.  
  
_Don’t be stupid,_ he thought as he made his way quickly into the parlor where he had left Frodo on the couch. Frodo was still there, propped against the cushions his head lolling to one side. For one suspended moment Sam stared at him, oblivious to the rise and fall of Frodo’s chest or the fluttering of his eyelids. He felt panic grip him and shaking, he sat at the head of the couch and trying to control himself. Even when Frodo opened his eyes and focused on the pale face only a few feet from his own, Sam’s panic refused to release its grip. The potion could have been the wrong one, it could be old and of no more use, it could have never been of any use; Bilbo might have only been telling a tale to his young gardener’s lad. All of this rattled around in Sam’s head, paralyzing him.  
  
“Sam-lad, you’re supposed to be patting my head and telling me I’ll be alright,” Frodo told him. Sam only stared at him. Even the endearment Bilbo had used for him received no response. Frodo tried a weak smile and turned to look at Sam more easily. “Is Mistress Grubb coming?” he asked. Sam started violently and shook his head.  
  
“No, she’s not there. Madam Malkin over in Waymeet is the closest healer, and I sent Nibs with the cart for her,” he said miserably. Frodo tried to make light of it.  
  
“Ah well, there isn’t much a healer can do anyway,” he said, and winced realizing that didn’t sound encouraging. “Rather, I think we’re going to have to have faith in Bilbo and his magic potion,” Frodo said. Sam did look at him this time.  
  
“You think it was real?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Bilbo didn’t often lie,” Frodo said, “only when he had to, and I don’t think he ever lied to you.” Sam’s shoulders relaxed and his panic drained. What had happened had happened, and worrying wouldn’t help anything, he realized. Sam looked up into Frodo’s face and saw an answering look of calm acceptance. They stared at one another for a moment, until Sam dropped his gaze shyly.  
  
“One time the Gaffer marched me up to Bag End and asked Mr. Bilbo to tell me there weren’t any such thing as dragons,” Sam said quietly, “On account of I wouldn’t stop going on about them, and kept having nightmares.” Frodo looked at him quizzically for a moment, then laughed.  
  
“He never told me about that,” he said. Sam smiled.  
  
“Aye, well, I think it put Mr. Bilbo in a bad place, being between the hard looks my Gaffer must have been giving him, and my sad face.”  
  
“Poor Bilbo,” Frodo said smiling.  
  
“He looked a might uncomfortable but then he said, “Sam-lad, there are no dragons,” and then real quiet like he said, “…in the Shire,” where my Gaffer couldn’t hear.” Frodo laughed heartily.  
  
“Did that stop your nightmares?” he asked.  
  
“Aye,” Sam said sheepishly, “But I wished Mr. Bilbo hadn’t known dragons scared me, ‘cause he wouldn’t tell me the scary tales after that, till I got older anyway.”  
  
“Oh, yes, or until you bullied me into telling them to you,” Frodo said, “Remember the tale of the barrow-wight we read together that night the Gaffer left you at Bag End?”  
  
“Oh yes,” Sam said his eyes widening. “I didn’t sleep a wink that night.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Frodo said chuckling. Sam looked down and frowned, then without a word he moved closer to the couch and leaned against the plush front. Frodo watched, curiously.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he asked quietly.   
  
“Yes?” he asked. Sam squirmed then said,  
  
“Maybe when you get to feeling better we could read some of the old tales? Together, like we used to,” Frodo smiled down at him.  
  
“I’ll find one with a dragon,” he murmured. Sam reached up and took his hand and dared a glance upward to meet Frodo’s eyes. There was a faltering knock at the door. Sam snatched his hand away, as if he’d been caught stealing one of Marigold’s cakes.  
  
“I'll just get that,” he said, feeling rattled, and jumped up, nearly sprinting to the door. Sam yanked the door open moodily and glowered down at Nibs Cotton.  
  
“Hello, Sam,” Nibs said looking none too happy himself at being on Bag End’s front stoop. Sam felt his patience at an end. Normally he and Nibs got on well, but today Nibs had done too many things to annoy him, and this latest interruption had hardly helped. His irritation must have shown because Nibs back up out of tackling range and tried not to look alarmed.  
  
“Now Sam don’t look at me like that, I met Tom on the road and he’s going to go get the cart and fetch Madam Malkin.”  
  
“When you think he’ll get here?” Sam asked flatly. Nibs scowled, not used to being on the receiving end of Sam’s ire and crossed his arms.  
  
“I don’t know. That depends don’t it? Anyway, I wanted to see how Mr. Frodo’s doing and help if I can. And, well, I’d like to see the mushrooms,” Nib’s jutted his chin out defiantly, “I won’t believe it till I see it.” Sam glowered at him.  
  
“Fine, come and see,” he said, making way and letting Nibs past. Nibs padded quietly into the parlor and halted at the entrance. Frodo raised his head, looking over the couch arm and smiled weakly.  
  
“Good day Master Carl,” Frodo said politely, “What can I do for you?” Nibs paled at the use of his proper name and snatched his hat off.  
  
“B-Begging your pardon Mr. Frodo,” he stuttered, “Samwise told me as you had took sick on account of a bad mushroom. And I was wanting to have a look, seeing as how those shrooms come from our farm, and begging pardon again, but I don’t understand how a toadstool could have got mixed in, sir.”  
  
“Feel free to inspect the mushrooms,” Frodo said lightly, “They are still in the basket in the kitchen.” Nibs gave a quick curt nod and darted away, Sam trailing him, still scowling.  
  
“He don’t look too bad, though,” Nibs muttered as he went. Sam gave him a withering look but didn’t feel like lecturing Nibs again. They entered the kitchen and Nibs went to the window where the wicker basket sat near the stove. Sam stood by and snorted pointing as he did.  
  
“And just what do you call that?” he asked pushing the white gills on a mushroom on the top of the pile. Nibs stared.  
  
“Nay, but,” he frowned and picked up the mushroom, inspecting. “Can’t be,” he murmured and looked at Sam, “He ate this? He couldn’t have eaten this.” Sam reached behind the basket and found the half eaten raw mushroom Frodo had been munching when he had come in. He held it up for Nib’s inspection. Nibs stared dumbly.  
  
“Sakes,” he murmured.  
  
“Believe me now do you?” Sam asked, “I know you think the girls couldn’t have made such a mistake but then how do you explain this getting in his basket?”  
  
“Mr. Frodo didn’t pick any mushrooms of his own did he?” Nibs asked. Sam’s eyes narrowed.  
  
“If he had he’s not daft enough to pick up a death cap,” the gardener hissed between clenched teeth, “or do you want to tell the Master of Bag End- who is an accomplished mushroom harvester in his own rights- that it’s his own fool fault for picking stray mushrooms and mixing them in?”  
  
"He ate a death cap. I'm not sure I'd call that accomplished," Nibs huffed. Sam almost struck him.  
  
"He trusted in your family," he said through gritted teeth, "I imagine that's why he didn't look too close."  
  
“Alright, alright,” Nibs revised quickly and winced, “It’s just- well look at this shroom- see the end? It’s ripped up, right out of the ground like. But look here,” he picked up one of the round whites from the basket, “See the ends? Our girls cut the ends clean see? So it couldn’t have come from our stock.” Sam put his hands on his hips.  
  
“So how did it get in?” he was reluctant to let Nibs off the hook. Nibs seemed far too concerned with diverting the responsibility, but then Sam supposed he couldn’t blame the lad. No one would want to be the hobbit that poisoned Frodo Baggins.  
  
“The mushrooms sit in the barn in their baskets. It’s not as if we post a guard over them, aside from the dogs,” Nibs said.  
  
“So who was at the farm yesterday?” Sam asked, “Before Mr. Frodo came by.” Nibs shrugged.  
  
“The Hornblower girls came for a batch of mushrooms, the Grubb lad for some hay,” Nibs frowned thinking, “Mr. Browntree got apples, and the Turnplow boy and some of his friends came by just before Mr. Frodo, but I can’t think of anyone else.”  
  
“Bugsey Turnplow?” Sam asked. He didn’t like Bugsy Turnplow or the crowd he went with. The Turnplows were farmers by trade but only had a small farm shared on the Bracegirdle land. Bugsey had an annoying habit of dominating gardening conversations with complaints about suppliers cheating him with poor seed, shoddy trowels, poor manure, and any thing else he could think of. Sam thought he was a puffed up lazy ass.  
  
"Yeah. Turnplow. And with him was Hob and Lotho Sackville-Baggins."  
  
"What?"  
  
“Aye, Mr. Lotho was one of them as came along and he bought some milk while he was there,” he said.  
  
“Were they alone in the barn?” Sam asked.  
  
“Well I had to get the milk didn’t I?”  
  
“Blast,” Sam muttered.  
  
“Ha, you think that Sackville-Baggins might have put in the bad mushrooms? His family always did have it out for our set of Baggins’,” Nibs seemed a little more gleeful than Sam thought was proper.   
  
“I don’t know nothing. And you’re not to spread it around.”  
  
“No, I won’t,” Nibs said distractedly, then frowned, “How come he ain’t dead? Begging pardon, but he shouldn’t be looking this well. He ought to be fevered at least."  
  
“Had a potion didn’t he? I told you.”  
  
“Magic?” Nibs asked. Sam frowned. He didn’t know if it was magic, but to Nibs and the lads he would be telling this tale to, magic was a dirty word.  
  
“Just a tonic. Don’t be daft. Now, if you can’t be any more use go on and get out,” Sam said rudely.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Frodo lay on the couch wide eyed.  
  
“Lotho,” he muttered. He had heard everything Sam and Nibs had said from the kitchen, even though they had had their voices pitched low. Frodo ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at his writing desk distractedly, frowning. As of late, Lotho had been more of a nuisance than usual, but surely this couldn’t have been anything but an accident. Could it? Frodo rubbed his head and groaned. After Sam had shown Nibs out he came back into the parlor and plopped down in the chair near the couch. Frodo smiled weakly at him.  
  
“Well, Nibs is going to have a nice tale for the neighbors,” he said. Sam fixed his eyes on the carpet and fidgeted.  
  
“Sir, Nib said as Mr. Lotho was at the barn yesterday, before you came. He was alone in the barn, with your basket.”  
  
“Yes, I heard him,” Frodo said. Sam hung his head but looked hard at Frodo.  
  
“Then ought we to do something?” he asked, “Should I go find a shirriff? You have to admit it’s looking like a bad business.”  
  
“No,” Frodo sighed. “We leave this be.”  
  
“But sir,” Sam started.  
  
“Lotho is my cousin,” Frodo said quietly, “I'm not going to run to the shirriffs with accusations against him.”  
  
“He might have killed you,” Sam cried.  
  
“I’m sure that’s not the case. Anyway, there is no proof.”  
  
“Not yet, but sir won’t you let me-”  
  
“No Sam,” he said it a little harder than he meant and adding in a kinder tone, “Please try to understand.” Sam stared, looking taken aback. There was silence as Sam tilted his head down, sucking his teeth. It seemed that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything pleasant, even for Frodo’s sake. Frodo watched him a moment then sighed and leaned back. “He's family,” he added quietly. Sam leaned forward but didn't answer, apparently still beyond being able to say anything polite. Frodo cast an amused look at his gardener. “Oh Sam, you really are angry with me, aren’t you?” he asked. Sam hunched his shoulders, still refusing to look at Frodo.  
  
“I’m not angry at you,” he said, a little stiffly. Frodo sighed. There was a heavy knock on the door and Frodo jolted up, looking round.  
  
“Damnation,” he muttered, “I forgot Fatty and Merry and Pippin.”  
  
“I’ll see to them sir,” Sam said, jumping up and making his way hastily to the front door, as the pounding resumed.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Sam opened the green door and found three well dressed gentlehobbits standing on the stoop.   
  
“Hello Sam,” Pippin said stepping closer, “Is our cousin so lazy now that he makes you answer the door for him?”  
  
“Maybe Frodo is having us screened, like he does for the SBs,” Fatty said cheerfully.  
  
“No, sir,” was all that Sam could manage.  
  
“Frodo, we’re coming in whether you invite us in or not!” Merry shouted down the hallway, moving in, past Sam.  
  
“Sir,” Sam said as the three passed him, “it’s just Mr. Frodo’s took ill.”  
  
“Ill?” Pippin blinked turning.  
  
“Sam, what are you telling them?” came Frodo’s weary voice from the parlor. Sam followed the three gentle hobbits as they moved down the hall and into the parlor. Pippin went to the sofa and crouched down to peer at Frodo.  
  
“You ass,” Pippin greeted him, “What do you mean by getting sick? We were supposed to hike to Needlehole tomorrow.”  
  
“Sorry Pip,” Frodo said, reaching out to ruffle Pippin hair.  
  
“Poor Frodo, I see you’ve got a basin,” Fatty said. “So what are you sick with?” Frodo looked down, embarrassed.  
  
“I’m afraid I ate a bad mushroom,” he said.  
  
“You, eat a bad mushroom?” Merry laughed. “My dear lad, you know more about mushrooms-” Frodo shrugged and cut him off.  
  
“I wasn’t paying attention. I bought them from the Cottons so I didn’t check.”  
  
“What kind was it?” Pippin asked. Frodo’s gaze slide further down and his cheeks took on a flush.  
  
“Death cap, I’m afraid,” he said. Fatty's jaw dropped and Pippin squeaked. Merry stared at him, wide-eyed. Frodo looked up at them and said quickly, “It’s alright. Sam gave me an antidote and I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten all the mushroom out of my stomach by now.” Merry dropped to his knees and grasped Frodo’s hands.  
  
“Antidote? There isn’t any antidote is there?”  
  
“It was something Mr. Bilbo had,” Sam interjected. The gentlehobbit's eyes were on him and he felt himself flush, but went on, “He told me it was good for any poison. And I think he got the potions from foreign parts, when he was on his journey. At least, I’ve never seen anything like them in the Shire.”  
  
“I’d like to see them,” Merry said weakly.  
  
“Frodo,” Pippin wailed, “How could you be so careless?”  
  
“I want to know how the Cottons were so careless,” Merry said.  
  
“It’s alright,” Frodo said, “I don’t want you bothering the Cottons. Sam has already had words with Nibs.”  
  
“Words? That’s hardly enough to compensate for giving you toadstools,” Fatty said. Frodo rubbed his forehead, feeling tired.  
  
“It’s already been taken care of,” he said.  
  
“Begging pardon, but maybe it hasn’t,” Sam said quietly. Allfour gentlehobbits turned to look at him, and Frodo shot him a stern look.  
  
“What do you mean, Sam?” Merry asked.  
  
“He doesn’t mean anything,” Frodo said sharply, keeping his eyes locked on Sam’s. Sam quelled under that look and remained silent.  
  
“Frodo,” Pippin said tartly, “You might as well stop bullying Sam. We’ll annoy you until you give over and tell us, you know.”  
  
“Sam, what do you suspect?” Merry asked in a hard voice. Sam looked down at the floor, shifting uneasily, but stoutly didn’t answer. Frodo groaned.  
  
“Go on then, Sam. Get it over. I always knew cousins were a damned nuisance,” he said, laying back and closing his eyes. Sam looked over at him and then looked up at Merry. He worried his lip and then sighed.  
  
“It’s just something Nibs Cotton said about the mushrooms,” he said haltingly, “Yesterday morning when Mr. Frodo went to pick up the shrooms, well, before he got there Mr. Lotho came by with two of his hangers-on and Nibs had to leave them in the barn while he got the milk for his order. And well, they keep the mushrooms in the barn, see, and Mr. Frodo’s was sitting out, plain and labeled, and well…” he trailed off, not knowing if he ought to accuse a Baggins, even a Sackville-Baggins, of anything in the company of Frodo's kin.  
  
“You think he slipped the bad shrooms in then?” Pippin asked quietly. “Do the Cottons keep death cap around?” he frowned, “Well, I suppose they wouldn’t have to. Death cap grow everywhere.” Merry frowned looking skeptical.  
  
“I know Lotho’s an ass but surely he wouldn’t do such a thing, and to kin,” he said slowly.  
  
“Lotho can’t even read,” Frodo said sharply. “He's not going to know whose name was written on which basket.” Sam hung his shoulders, but set his jaw into a stubborn frown.  
  
“Wouldn’t have to,” he murmured, “The seal of Bag End is on the basket. Everyone knows what that looks like around here.”  
  
“I wouldn’t put it past Lotho,” Fatty said. “Didn’t he break one of your fingers when you were a child, Frodo?” Frodo grimaced and met Sam's eyes for a moment, looking embarrassed. He'd never told Sam about that.  
  
“I’m sure he didn’t break it. And it was just a game,” Frodo said sullenly. Merry snorted, but didn’t contradict him.  
  
“I still don’t like it,” Pippin said, “And it’s a good excuse for us to go knock Lotho around,” he added, brightening.  
  
“No,” Frodo said so forcefully that Pippin jumped.  
  
“Frodo, you don’t expect us to stand by if something funny is going on, do you?” Merry asked, “In the very least we must investigate a bit and make sure it was an accident.” Merry squinted at him, while Frodo stared back defiant and sullen.  
  
“Begging pardon,” Sam said weakly, “But how could it be an accident? The Cottons don’t make such mistakes, and they never pick death cap. And anyhow, Nibs showed me how they trim the ends nice, and the ones that were death cap, well, the ends were just broken off. You can go see for yourself.”  
  
“Frodo, you don’t think it was an accident, do you?” Merry asked quietly. Sam was not sure but he thought he saw a tightness draw up in Frodo’s face.   
  
“I don’t want to think about it now,” Frodo said tiredly, “and if you all don’t stop badgering me I’ll have Sam lock you out. Can’t a sick hobbit get some rest?”  
  
“Of course,” Pippin said, “Don’t be silly. We’ll let you rest. You know we’re only worried about you.” He rose. Merry reached down and took Frodo’s hand again and gave it a squeeze.  
  
“Get some sleep if you can, and stop being an ass,” he added. Frodo glowered up at him as Merry settled an arm around Pippin’s shoulders and led him out of the parlor, Fatty following behind. Sam stayed still a moment, then jumped up.  
  
“Sorry sir,” he murmured, “Did you need anything?” Frodo fixed his gardener with a kindly smile.  
  
“No Sam, you’ve done more than enough for me today. Don’t worry about the garden either. Take the afternoon, what’s left of it,” he said. Sam bowed his head.  
  
“That’s kind of you sir, but I would like to stay until the healer gets here, if that’s alright,” he said.  
  
“Alright. But go make yourself some tea,” Frodo said leaning back, “Bilbo always believed tea cured all ills.” Sam smiled.  
  
“That he did, said so on more than one occasion,” Sam said, going to the door.  
  
“And Sam?”  
  
“Yes sir?” Sam asked.  
  
“I’m sorry for nearly serving you poisoned mushrooms,” Frodo said giving him a rueful smile. Sam smiled back and shook his head.  
  
“Well sir, I’ll overlook it this time,” Sam said and felt his face go hot from his cheek, but it was worth it to see Frodo laugh.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

A while later, after they've moved their belongings into Frodo's guest rooms, Merry led Pippin back into the parlor to check on Frodo, and felt eyes on him. He glanced over on the other side of the tea table and saw Sam, seated near the head of the couch, drinking tea.   
  
“Oh, are we going to put our plan into motion then?” Pippin whispered. Merry nodded and moved silently into the parlor. He couldn’t help smirking at the protective stance Sam had taken. Sam saw his smirk and eyed him suspiciously.  
  
“Hello Mr. Merry. Mr. Frodo’s still asleep,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Ah, so you’re standing watch, are you?” Merry asked him. Sam blushed and looked down into his tea.  
  
“No sir, just though he might like some tea,” he mumbled, then remembering his manners, “There is a fresh pot if’n you’d like some Mr. Merry.”  
  
“No thank you,” Merry said, “But I would like to speak with you.” Sam looked frightened for an instant, before the stony mask of propriety took hold and he rose, calmly and followed Merry out of the parlor. Merry felt guilty at making Sam anxious so he hastened to explain, “Fatty, Pip and I want to thank you.”  
  
“Oh, er- no sir, it weren’t nothing,” Sam said as Merry led him into the kitchen where Fatty was seated, drinking a cup of tea from Sam’s pot. Pippin slid the door shut behind him and Sam sat down next to Fatty, who smiled reassuringly.  
  
“Well we appreciate knowing you are about,” Merry said.

“Frodo's a fine hobbit,” Fatty said amiably, “but we worry about him all on his own, out here in Overhill.” Sam blinked at him. He didn't think of Overhill as being the wilds, but he kept his mouth shut. These were gentlehobbits, used to traveling and living in massive familial estates. Maybe to them Overhill felt desolate.  
  
“It's not that we think of Hobbiton as an unfriendly place. It's just that Frodo hasn't family here, to look after him,” Merry said. Sam felt himself frowning and Merry quickly added, “That isn't to say that we don't think Frodo capable of looking after himself. He's been fine all these years.”  
  
“Then what do you mean, Mr. Merry?” Sam asked, peering at him. Merry looked oddly flustered by the question and Sam blinked. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Merry flustered.  
  
“Frodo's been writing things in letter that make us worry,” Pippin said quietly. Sam turned to look at him.  
  
“And we wondered if perhaps you have picked up on anything that might be disturbing him.” Sam sat up and stared at the gentlehobbits, ridged.  
  
“I don't know what your talking about, sirs,” he said firmly, “there hasn't been anything odd in Hobbiton or around the Hill except for the mushroom business this morning.”  
  
“We're not talking about Hobbiton,” Merry said, “we want to know if Frodo has told you of anything that been weighing on his mind.” Sam gave them a dubious look. “Especially anything to do with old Gandalf?” There was silence in the kitchen. Sam stood up and felt his cheeks burning as he watched at the hobbits around him.  
  
“Now, sirs, I know you’re only asking cause you care for Mr. Frodo, but I'll not speak on my master's business.”  
  
“We're not asking because we want gossip,” Pippin added, carefully. Sam's expression softened only slightly.  
  
“I'm sorry, sirs. I've nothing more to say on the matter.” There was an awkward silence. Merry coughed, looking embarrassed.  
  
“Right you are, Sam. Sorry to bother you,” he said. Sam nodded stiffly, and escaped from the kitchen.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Sam grasped his cup of tea as he made his way out into the garden, sipping as he gazed over the rolling hills below. His heart was still pounding from having spoken so rudely to Frodo's friends, but he felt justified in his rudeness. He thought that even his father would have approved, after the questions they had tried to ask him. Sam snorted in irritation and pushed the matter from his mind. This whole upset had displaced his routine, and Sam, like most hobbits, preferred his day to have a set order to it. He sighed and sat down on the low stone wall near the pump to finish his tea.  
    
_I was scared,_ Sam thought suddenly, really and truly scared. And that hadn’t happened in quite a while. For the first time that day Sam had time to think about the look on Frodo’s face when he had realized the mushrooms were poisonous. He wondered what his own face had shown, if the chill and sick horror that he had repressed had surfaced. It was a miracle he had thought of the potions, and that he had known of the potions at all. Sam sighed and thought on Bilbo, and wondered if the old master had known what he was doing when he showed Sam the bottle. Bilbo had often done things like that, placing information in Sam’s head that later came in useful, often times in useful for Frodo as well.

Sam drank his tea down. He didn’t like thinking about what might have happened. About what his life would have become without the Master of Bag End. He wrinkled his nose. _This isn't practical,_ he thought, _I’ve got a job to do now._   _Those death cap didn’t get in there themselves. And I need to find out how they got there and if that Lotho did it, deal with him, with or without Mr. Frodo’s leave._

That could be difficult, he reflected, but do it he would. It made him shivery to think of it like that, but if Lotho really had tried to poison Frodo, if he really had tried to kill him, then he could be capable of anything. Once it became known that Frodo wasn't dead, he might try again.


	3. Starting at Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is mostly written, but there's a good bit of editing to do, so updates may not be regularly timed.

Madam Malkin arrived in the late afternoon, perched on the Cotton’s cart, while Tom drove up the hill. Pippin spotted them first and let out a whoop, which woke Frodo. Merry went down and helped the old gammer up the hill and invited her inside. Madam Malkin looked to be past a hundred if Frodo was any judge and she moved stiffly and slowly as she came into the parlor.  
  
“Young lad, put my bag in that chair, if you don’t mind,” Madam Malkin directed to Pippin, who had her bag. “Now then,” the old hobbit woman said settling herself on a footstool by Frodo’s couch, “How are you feeling Master Frodo?” she asked. Frodo tried not to smile. No one had called him Master Baggins or Master Frodo since he had come of age, but she was of the generation that knew Bilbo as Mr. Baggins and Frodo would always be the young master.  
  
“A bit tired madam, but no worse for wear I think,” he said. Madam Malkin examined him, checked his temperature by pressing her cool wrinkled hand to his forehead and made him drink some horrible tasting concoction she had brought with her in a clay jar. She didn’t believe him when he said he had eaten death cap.  
  
“I don’t doubt you got some toadstool young master,” she said wisely, “but you wouldn’t be talking to me if’n you’d eat death cap. I’ve seen what happens to hobbits that make that mistake.”  
  
“Yes m’m,” Frodo said demurely as she patted his head.  
  
“Good gracious, I had best tell that Tom Cotton you’re not dead. He was mighty worked up he was,” the old hobbit woman said, standing stiffly, “I’ll be back in a moment young Baggins. I’ll just fetch my herbs and then give you a full looking over, just to be safe.” She turned and spotted Merry as she hobbled toward the hall and made him follow her outside.  
Frodo tried not to look forlorn. He didn’t want a full examination, but he knew it would be useless to protest, at least while his cousins were about. He settled back and braced himself. But as he was about to close his eyes he heard footsteps in the hall and frowning looked over the top of the sofa to see an anxious Tom Cotton peering at him.  
  
“I beg your pardon sir!” Tom said and snatched his cap off, just as his brother had done earlier in the morning, “Don’t mean to intrude on you sir.” Frodo wanted quiet rest but he could see that would not be something he was likely to get, with half the population of Hobbiton likely advised on his condition.  
  
“You’re not intruding Tom,” Frodo said and tried to put cheer in his voice, “Thank you for fetching the healer, I’m grateful to you.” Tom blinked and stepped farther into the parlor, looking uncomfortable.  
  
“That was no bother Mr. Frodo, not after what we done,” he looked so shamefaced that Frodo sat up.  
  
“I don’t blame the Cotton family. It was an accident and nothing more,” he said but Tom was shaking his head.  
  
“T’was a terrible thing, Mr. Frodo and no mistake. You could have died,” he raised his face, “I’ll understand if you stop your account with us. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Frodo said sighing, “I’ll be expecting my eggs delivered at their regular time this week.” He paused considering, “Add an extra half dozen if you would, and some cheese. My friends are visiting.” Tom bit his lip.  
  
“Thank you sir. I’ll arrange it with Sam. You’ll have it by the end of the day, no charge.” He scowled and looked down again, “And I’m sorry for how my brother acted. Sam told me about his cheek, to you and to him. That won’t happen again, sir.”  
  
“Sam exaggerates terribly when he’s upset,” Frodo said flatly, “Your brother was perfectly polite to me.” Tom put his hands in his pockets and chuckled softly, staring at the floor.  
  
“Well, all the same, I’ve learned it's best not to upset Samwise,” he said. Frodo raised his eyebrows.  
  
“You’ll get no argument from me on that,” he said. Tom made a little bow.  
  
“Good day to you, Mr. Frodo,” he said and left.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Sam hefted the heavy jugs of water he had drawn from the pump and carried them into the kitchen. He spied Tom Cotton down at the other end, slipping out the green door and thought of calling to him, but remembered that Frodo might be resting, so he kept quiet. Depositing the jugs by the stove Sam stood and stretched, then wandered into the hall, thinking to check on his master. He knew the healer was about and he was curious to know what she had said. Sam lingered in the hall looking in to the parlor, feeling oddly reluctant to disturb Frodo.  
  
“Hullo, Sam,” Pippin said. Sam turned to see the young Took standing next to him in the hallway.  
  
“Oh, sorry Mr. Pippin. Didn't hear you there. Did you need something?”  
  
“No, thank you,” Pippin said, his attention wandering to the parlor. “Looks as if Frodo’s going to be alright. The healer said it was a nasty toadstool but that he seemes to be on the mend. Getting it out of his stomach proved to be the right step,” Pippin said, his voice musing. Sam nodded uneasily.  
  
“Aye,” he said.  
  
“You know he did say for you to have the afternoon off,” Pippin said looking up at him, “And I heard your brother is in town. Surely you want to spend some time with him?” Sam looked at him in amazement.  
  
“How did you know about that sir?” he asked. Pippin smiled smugly.  
  
“I was talking with Tom when he was watering the pony and he mentioned it. I hear you and Hamson and Tom have a night of ale planned,” he said. Sam nodded.  
  
“Well, we did but,” he began.  
  
“Sam, go on, Frodo will be fine and he wouldn’t want you to miss time with your brother and friends. Besides,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “Merry wants to have a talk with him I think, and he wants us out of the way.” Sam’s eyes widened.  
  
“Oh, yes sir,” he said, “Then, then, I had best, erm, I’ll just tell Mr. Frodo good bye.” He moved into the parlor. Frodo heard his approaching footsteps and opened his eyes.  
  
“There you are, Sam,” he said. “Madam says I will be alright. Thanks to fool’s luck,” he said smiling wanly, “But it looks as if I’m to have an examination anyway. That’s the trouble with healers you know, they won’t let you be until they’ve poked and prodded you.”  
  
“That’s so,” Sam said sighing as he leaned his elbow on the couch back and looked down at Frodo, “And made you swallow all their nasty oils and tonics.” Frodo’s eyes rested on him and Sam felt suddenly self-conscious.  
  
“Well, you had best escape while you can,” Frodo said, “It’s going to be chaos here I’m afraid.”  
  
“Are you sure sir?” Sam heard himself asking. He felt a pang of discomfort but ignored it. If Frodo wanted him to stay he would, never mind that Merry wanted him gone. “I could try and keep some of them off you so you can get some rest,” he added. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“I’m feeling well enough to bully anyone I need to; I even feel up to losing my temper. No, you go on.” Sam nodded feeling reluctant.  
  
“Yes sir. I hope you get to feeling better, and that healer won’t do anything too bad to you,” he said.  
  
“I hope so too,” Frodo said looking unhappy, but then smiled up at Sam again, “I can’t thank you enough for this morning. I am so very glad you were there.” Sam felt his stomach clench.  
  
“Me too,” he said.  
  
“Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Frodo said. Sam inclined his head.  
  
“Good day then sir,” he said and turned away.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Merry had gone ahead of Madam Malkin, her jars of herbs clutched in his hands. He had entered the smial and stood in the hall, gazing into the parlor as Sam and Frodo talked. To his amazement Sam seemed to be saying goodbye for the day. Merry shot a glance down the hall and saw Pippin positioned at the other doorway, peeking in. When he saw Merry watching him he gave a smug smile and winked. Merry rolled his eyes at his cousin.  
  
Sam entered the hall and caught sight of him. He nodded politely and said good-bye and Merry smiled and thanked him once more. Sam looked a little uncomfortable, Merry thought as the gardener hurried out the front door, narrowly avoiding knocking down Madam Malkin as she trailed up the path. She fussed at him and swatted in Sam’s direction as he babbled apologies and took flight. Merry couldn’t help but smile and went to help the healer through the door.  
  
“Might I offer you my arm Madam?” Merry asked. Madam Malkin’s frown relaxed and she took the arm offered her. Merry led her into the parlor, still holding her herb jars, and Frodo turned to look at them apprehensively.  
  
“Now Master Baggins,” Madam Malkin said with relish, “Let’s just have a look. Do you mind if your cousin is here? I might need someone about with a strong back, especially if you need help standing.” Frodo scowled at Merry who smiled placidly back.  
  
“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Merry said, “Frodo and I grew up together. It’s alright, isn’t it Frodo?” Frodo closed his eyes.  
  
“Of course,” he said, “Thank you Merry.”  
  
“Well then,” Madam Malkin said smiling, “Let’s get started.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Frodo stewed, feeling distinctly irritated. The examination had been bad enough, but the Madame insisted that he was too pale to be properly healthy and there was an additional hour of her prodding him, seemingly without purpose. Frodo had almost lost his temper several times except that Merry had fixed him with a stern gaze that said plainly, you will stand for this or suffer dire consequences, so Frodo had bit his lip and tried to remember all the etiquette lessons he had had as a boy in Brandy Hall.  
  
When they had finally left him alone Merry had retreated to the kitchen and by the sounds of it he was cooking. Well that was all right then, he was starving, oddly enough. Frodo curled down into his nest of pillows and stared at the fire, trying to rest. His body still felt a bit drained and his head was woozy, but everything else seemed in working order and he wasn’t afraid anymore. Really, he hadn’t been afraid since Sam had sat by the side of his couch and they had agreed to trust in Bilbo’s potion. He remembered the way Sam’s face had slowly relaxed and he had taken on a thoughtful look. It had suited him, Frodo reflected, feeling unexpectedly soothed.  
  
He must have dozed for a while because when he came back into awareness he had the sense that time had slipped by. He frowned, bleary eyed and sat up, listening for Merry. The kitchen was silent.  
“Merry?” Frodo called. He didn't need anything, he just suddenly had the sense that he needed to hear a friendly voice. But there was only silence.  
Frodo took a breath and got to his feet, still shaky. Merry must have walked outside for a moment. Maybe he went to the privy. All very likely, but even so, Frodo felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. He frowned, suddenly more worried about his own reaction. His heart was pounding.  
  
All at once he was hit with the sensation of being watched. Frodo gasped and swung around, his eyes darting around the room. It was empty. He took a few breaths, fear thrilling through him. He was safe in his own parlor, he told himself, but somehow didn't believe it. The sensation grew stronger.  
  
“Merry!”  
  
No answer. Frodo moved into the hallway and then into the kitchen, hoping he'd spot his cousin, but the kitchen was empty. The only movement came from the rising steam from Merry's bubbling stew. Frodo stared at it, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He needed to get out of Bag End. Something was bearing down on the smial and Frodo felt as if it could fall at any moment and crush him.  
Shivering he moved to the side kitchen door and went out into the sunlight. There was birdsong and a slight breeze lifted his curls.  
Frodo paused in the garden, taking deep breaths and frowned. He'd had these unsettled spells before. Within the past month or so, small feelings of disquiet, or the sensation of being watched. Nothing like this. He shivered and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he was cracking.  
  
Merry's form appear as he came up the path to the front door. He paused at the gate, catching site of Frodo in the garden. Frodo smiled and walked the short distance to the path.  
  
“There you are,” he breathed in relief. Merry's expression showed a slightly surprise at this and he moved closer.  
  
“I went to check your post,” he said and peered at Frodo, “are you alright?”  
  
“Of course,” Frodo said stoutly. Merry gave him a look. After a sheepish pause Frodo dropped his gaze. “I just needed to step out of the parlor. It was getting a little stuffy.”  
  
“You're supposed to be breathing the vapor pot and relaxing.”  
  
“I think I would rather help you cook.”  
  
“Alright, if you like,” Merry agreed easily and they went back up to the kitchen door. Frodo was relieved not to feel the weight of fear settle back on his shoulders as he entered the smial. He blinked pushing aside the unease. The disturbance of the morning must have unsettled him more than he thought.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Hob Hatfeild drained his mug and eyed the door of the Ivy Bush. He was expecting Lotho Sackville-Baggins to join him for lunch but his companion hadn’t shown yet. Hob didn’t exactly like Lotho, but Lobelia was his mother’s best customer, always buying dresses from the Hatfield shop and having them mended too. As Lotho was about Hob’s age this meant Hob had been expected to get on with Lotho and over the years the two had developed a grudging respect for one another, and even a sort of friendship. The fact that the shop was successful enough to make the Hatfield’s relatively wealthy meant that Lotho regarded him with some esteem, if he didn’t exactly count Hob as one of the gentry. Somehow that fact seemed to make things easier between them, as if Lotho wasn’t expecting competition from Hob.  
  
The pub was noisy and full, with mostly locals that Hob recognized, but there were some traveling hobbits and even a Big Person slouched in the back, smoking. A group of hobbits sat close to the bar talking loudly.  
  
“And I slipped the straw mushrooms into his basket! You wait till Mr. Lotho hears this!” Hob looked up and saw that it was Bugsey Turnplow, a farmer lad who liked to trail after him and Lotho. Bugsey caught his eye. “Mr. Lotho’s coming in today ent he?”  
  
“Aye,” Hob said and looked down into his mug mournfully.  
  
“Fill your glass sir?” the serving maid offered. Hob lifted his mug and gave her a smile before turning back to scowl at Bugsey.  
  
“Just who are you slipping straw mushrooms? That’s a dirty trick that is,” he called. Bugsey smirked.  
  
“Frodo Baggins, that’s who,” he said looking immensely pleased.  
  
“So you’re the one that’s done it.” Hob turned to see Lotho standing in the doorway, glowering at them all. Bugsey didn’t seem to notice Lotho’s scowl and jumped up, raising his mug.  
  
“Aye sir!” he laughed, “Mr. Frodo needed the pluck taken out of him. I've heard many around here say as much.” He glanced around but most of the hobbits were giving him hard looks and frowning. Busey looked confused. Lotho stalked in, and set his bag down at Hob’s table. Hob stayed quiet. He knew the signs of fury in Lotho and he wasn’t keen to have any of it directed at him.  
  
“I’ve just come from Hobbiton,” Lotho said in a low voice, “Where everyone is talking about the master being poisoned with death cap.” Bugsey blinked stupidly, then let out a guffaw.  
  
“Mr. Frodo don’t know no difference twix the runs and dying!” Lotho slammed a fist down on the bar and rattled Bugsey’s mug. The other hobbit gaped at him in shock.  
  
“You did give him a death cap you ass! Nibs Cotton was in town and he showed me the very shroom from Frodo’s basket.”  
  
“I didn’t give him no such thing!” Bugsey protested, “Nibs Cotton is a liar!” Lotho lunged forward and caught Bugsey by the ear and dragged him to the back door. Hob stood and put down a coin before following Lotho outside. Even if he caught a little of Lotho’s anger it was worth it to see the rest of this spectacle. Apparently the better part of the pub felt the same way, for more than a dozen hobbits followed Hob out to see Lotho dragging Bugsey to the town’s edge.  
  
“There!” Lotho thrust Bugsey away and pointed to the ground, “Show me then my lad, which mushrooms you put into my cousin's basket.” Bugsey stared down at the mushroom patch, growing wild in the field. He turned back to Lotho and gaped some more.  
  
“I only sees the one kind,” Bugsey said.  
  
“What kind?” Lotho demanded. Bugsey turned back to the patch, his color paling.  
  
“I-I… erm. Straw! These are straw!” he bent and plucked one, “See with the little spots, aye.” Hob winced as Lotho rear back and struck Bugsey hard across the jaw.  
  
“Death cap! That is a death cap!” he shouted, “the bloody spots have nothing to do with it! It’s the gills you look at you swine! Tell me lad how you call yourself a hobbit when even a child knows the bloody difference between death cap and straw!” He reared back to hit Bugsey again but the pub owner, Mr. Warren cleared his throat.  
  
“Aye that’s right Mr. Sackville-Baggins, this lad deserves a few blows for not knowing, and for playing such a prank on your cousin, why he could have died, but I think it’s fair clear he couldn’t have given death cap to Mr. Baggins.” Lotho turned slowly and stared at the pub owner.  
  
“Yes and why is that?” he asked softly. Mr. Warren crossed his arms.  
  
“Because Mr. Baggins ent dead. I’ve had word from Hobbiton too, and by all accounts, the master is sick, but on the mend. If it had been death cap he et this morning we’d be hearing when the funeral was going to be.” The crowd murmured approvingly. Lotho’s shoulders relaxed and Hob let out a breath. Mr. Warren cast a look of disgust at Bugsey, “This fellow took a terrible chance, and it could have just as easily gone the other way, but it seems Mr. Bugsey that you are a lucky lad, and Mr. Baggins luckier. Come along now everyone let’s get out of this sun,” he said and ambled back toward the pub. Most of the hobbits followed slowly, casting hopeful looks at Lotho to see if anymore outbursts would be forth coming. Hob followed Lotho back in while Bugsey, incredibly trailed behind them. Hob turned and gave him a hard look.  
  
“My ale is in there!” Bugsey whispered. Hob snorted and turned back to the procession. When they entered the pub again Lotho went to sit at Hob’s table and ordered a pitcher for the both of them. Hob studied his friend and saw with some surprise that Lotho still looked angry.  
  
“Really Lotho, what’s got you so hot eh? Never knew you to be defending Frodo Baggins.”  
  
“I’m not defending him. Doesn’t mean I want him killed dead by some imbecile thinking to please me,” Lotho muttered. Hob stared feeling shocked and his opinion of Lotho raised a bit. To him, Lotho had always seemed too cold, but this just went to show that even Lotho Sackville-Baggins had his limits on cruelty. “I’m not risking him dying before I figure out how to make Bag End mine. I doubt the little usurper has it willed to me at present,” Lotho growled and sipped his ale. Hob sat back and smiled. That was more like the Lotho he knew.  
  
“No?” Hob asked, “You’re next in line certainly.”  
  
“Maybe so, but I’d not put anything past that no account low-rent Brandybuck cast-off.”  
  
“It would be a scandal if the hole wasn’t willed to you!”  
  
“When has scandal ever stopped a Baggins from doing as he pleases?” Lotho scowled, “I’m certain he’s found a way to cut us out again. I bet it’s going to his Brandybuck relations. Imagine! Bucklanders in the West Farthing. Disgraceful.”  
  
“Was it really a death cap Nibs Cotton showed you?” Hob asked. Lotho nodded. “Think he was lying then?” Hob asked.  
  
“No I don’t. Nibs is alright really, and he swore to me up and down that what he held was the very mushroom Samwise Gamgee put in his hand and said it was what Frodo ate this morning.”  
  
“Oh Gamgee, well he’s hardly trustworthy,” Hob said wryly. From the bar Bugsey was still talking loudly, though now his voice was worried as he tried to decide his course.  
  
“You should go and see Mr. Baggins,” Old Noakes put in, “He’s soft hearted.”  
  
“I ent going to do no such thing!” Bugsey said indignantly.  
  
“Well someone has to tell Mr. Baggins,” another put in gingerly, “And it’s going to get out.”  
  
“Hoy, Bugsey,” Hob called, “I wonder if any of these lads will go tell Sam Gamgee that you was the one as poisoned his master.” The pub went quiet and Bugsey stared at the crowd around him in alarm.  
  
“Lads, you wouldn’t do that, would you?” he pleaded.  
  
“I think you had best get the next round for the lads,” Hob laughed and Bugsey looked sick. Everyone at the bar cheered and slapped Bugsey’s shoulders.  
  
“Bloody hell,” Bugsey moaned.  
  
“So,” Hob said quieter, turning back to Lotho, “if it was a death cap then why isn’t Frodo dead?”  
  
“I’m… not exactly sure,” Lotho admitted, “Everyone in Hobbiton was going on about Baggins magic.”  
  
“Oh, that stuff again,” Hob said smiling as he took a swig, “Well he is great friends with that conjurer, Gandalf.”  
  
“Partners in crime don’t you mean,” Lotho scowled.  
  
“You still think that?” Hob asked staring at Lotho over his mug, “What was your theory? That Frodo and Gandalf ran Bilbo off to take his land and fortune?”  
  
“Da thought that,” Lotho admitted, “I think worse.”  
  
“Oh come on Lotho,” Hob laughed, “Are you saying Frodo had ol' Bilbo killed?”  
  
“I don’t know about that, certainly nothing I can prove,” Lotho said piously, “But I don’t think Bilbo’s fortune was all they were after is all.”  
  
“Oh?” Hob asked. He didn’t necessarily believe all of Lotho’s talk, but he enjoyed the conspiracy theories, and when it came to Frodo Baggins, Lotho had some wild ones.  
  
“What would a Big Person and a conjurer want with a hobbit hole? Even a nice one?” Lotho shook his head, “Oh, Frodo might only be out for money but Big People, they want more out of our Shire. I’m thinking Gandalf wants to take it over and run it for himself.”  
  
“How’s that?” Hob asked easily, egging Lotho on.  
  
“Well,” Lotho said looking thoughtful, “The Shire is a safe place first and the wide world has been getting even more dangerous as of late. Our family has word from Bree every so often and talk is that there’s trouble out there. So the Shire has peace, and good farmland, enough farm land to feed, oh say, an army of Big People. I’m thinking Gandalf has given Frodo magic oddments; things that will help him take over the Shire when the time comes. That’s why he never sickens, never ages and why even poison won’t stop him. I warrant it’s all on account of Gandalf’s magics.”  
  
“So Gandalf wants to use hobbits as laborers to feed a Big Person army to do what?”  
  
“Take over someone else’s land I suppose. Those big people, it’s all they think about.”  
  
“As opposed to hobbits,” Hob said. Lotho nodded, Hob’s irony lost on him. Hob snorted into his mug and went on quickly before Lotho thought about his words too much, “Well Lotho, my fine hobbit, what exactly can you do to expose this Baggins conspiracy against the Shire?” Lotho sighed.  
  
“I dunno,” he said, “Frodo’s a tricky fellow.”  
  
“You could blackmail him.”  
  
“With what?”  
  
“I still say he’s bedding that gardener lad,” Hob said, leaning back, “catch him doing that why don’t you!”  
  
“If he is, he’s being damned careful about it,” Lotho sighed, “Mum would love that.”  
  
“I bet she would,” Hob said taking a sip and Lotho snorted.  
  
“I’m not joking; less chance of baby Bagginses to pass along the heirship. She would probably go to the blacksmiths and have their promise rings minted herself.” He laughed, “And can you imagine the scandal and gossip surrounding the debaucherous little prat for fucking his gardener?”  
  
“Good heavens yes,” Hob breathed into his cup. Lotho sighed and continued,  
  
“It would be too much to wish for, alas,” he said ruefully, “I shan’t be getting my hopes up. But, speaking of scandal, I had word that Fredegard, Peregrin and Meriadoc are in town. Two guesses who they’re going to go see.”  
  
“Have your lads follow them!” Hob said suddenly, sitting up.  
  
“What good would that do?” Lotho asked.  
  
“If half the rumors I hear about them is true you’ll have plenty of blackmail material.”  
  
“Yes against the future Thane of the Shire and Master of Buckland. Better hobbits than me have tried to bring those families down and failed,” Lotho grumbled.  
  
“Yes but Frodo Baggins is fond of those two, by all accounts,” Hob said, “You find a way to bring threat down on them and Frodo is weaker for it.”  
  
“It still doesn’t sound like something that could get me Bag End,” Lotho sighed.  
  
“Perhaps I could be of assistance with that.” Hob looked up to see the Big Person he had noticed earlier standing at their table. Lotho jerked back, looking startled.  
  
“Hoy! You listening to our business?” Lotho said through his teeth, “Big people in the Ivy Bush!”  
  
“My apologies,” the Big Person said. Hob stared at him in fascination. He had never seen a Big Person this close up. He had a thick red beard and a rounded nose. His eyes were a startling green and he wore mismatched patched robes. “I am a conjurer myself. I could not help but overhear that your adversary has magic bedevilments aiding him. If so, he could be beyond your ability to handle, but not beyond mine, if I might make so bold.”  
  
“You are bold sir,” Lotho said, his eye's narrowing. Hob shifted uneasily but the Big Person did not seem bothered.  
  
“If making him leave is all that you require, I believe such a thing would be quite easy.”  
  
“I am not doing business with a foreigner!” Lotho snapped at him, “You will find sir that hobbits do not take kindly to strangers that listen to other’s business. I have no desire to acquaint myself with someone who is so clearly a rascal.” The Big Person gazed down at him and bowed his head.  
  
“I am sorry to trouble you then, my good hobbit,” he said, and moved away. Lotho stared after him, open mouthed with indignation, only relaxing when the stranger stooped low and went outside.  
  
“Can you believe that? I had heard there were more strangers in the Shire, but here? In its very heart!”  
  
“I think you should have listened to him,” Hob said staring after the Big Person, “He’s a conjurer he said, and it doesn’t do to be rude to one of those.”  
  
“He’s a bloody fraud and a sneak,” Lotho declared, “No, I don’t need some mad Big Person involved in my affairs. I can deal with Frodo Baggins all on my own, thank you.”  
  
“Oh and how is that?” Hob asked, a little sullenly. Lotho sipped his ale and smirked. “Here now, Lotho, you do anything too violent and the sherriffs will be after you, not to mention that gardener-lad.”  
  
“I'm not afraid of the damned gardener, nor the sherriffs. Anyway, I would never stoop to violence. I have a better way. There's certain weaknesses in some of his land rights." Hob's eyes widened.  
  
"I would have never thought that! Not with Mr. Bilbo being so canny!"  
  
"It's nothing to do with Bag End," Lotho said unhappily, "but some of the outer-lying lands."  
  
"Oh, then how does that help?" Hob asked. Lotho smiled.  
  
"Some of the land in question falls along Bag Shot Row. I think Frodo will get very shirty if I go after the land rights there," he said. Hob blinked at him, frowning.  
  
"Maybe. But I don't see how that gets you Bag End."  
  
"We'll see," Lotho said, smiling.

<>O<>O<>O<>

"What are we going to do about Frodo?" Fatty asked, sending Merry a look. Merry sighed.  
  
"Do?" Pippin asked,  
  
"We'll have another go at Sam I guess," Merry said, not sounding very hopeful. Pippin snorted.  
  
"That's nothing doing."  
  
"There's no getting round it. We need Sam's help," Fatty said.  
  
"He will never help us if it means betraying Frodo," Pippin sighed. There was a heavy silence. "We are right about this, aren't we?" Pippin asked, "I mean, it's really more than cousin Frodo going just a little cracked from living out here all on his own, right?"  
  
"It really is more than that," Merry said with a hard voice. He glanced at them, "I know the letters don't seem like much- restlessness and complaints about his neighbors..."  
  
"But the word my family has from Hobbiton," Fatty said quietly, "they say Frodo has been seen in odd corners of the Shire, with strangers, and he invites them back to his home sometimes. They say the strangers are full of dark talk and they tell Frodo secrets. And I've seen more than one map on his desk that wasn't made in the Shire. There are roads he's marked. As if he's planning something.”  
  
“And, he avoids the subject, makes jokes, when we make our gentle inquiries.”  
  
"Maybe he's just dreaming. He's said before he'd like to go on an adventure someday. Maybe even find old Bilbo. And so what if he's being secretive," Pippin murmured, "he _is_ secretive." Merry shook his head slowly.  
  
“It's not just secrets. There's things that aren't right.” He frowned, looking pained, “He looks like he's still in his thirties," he said softly, "like he hasn't aged a day since Bilbo left."  
  
"Old Bilbo looked young for his age too."  
  
"But no other Baggins has that peculiarity. Only Bilbo and only Frodo. And it's not just being well preserved. He's unchanged. I don't like it."  
  
"You sound like those old gammers in Bywater," Pippin huffed. Merry cast a look at him but didn't reply.  
  
"Even if you discount Merry's feelings of foreboding," Fatty said softly, "there is the fact that talk in Hobbiton has gotten darker. Hobbits around these parts see all these strangers in the Shire and suddenly they can't stop talking about the Bagginses and old Bilbo's strange guests. And that talk has consequences.”  
  
“Consequences? What consequences?” Pippin asked frowning. Merry shot Fatty a scolding look.  
  
“He just means that with so many strangers about these days, it's not good for people to talk so about Bilbo and Frodo and draw attention to their connection to Gandalf and... magic. There are those who are very interested in such things. The Brandybucks have people in Bree and the South Farthing who say there are Big People who pay for that kind of information.” Pippin snorted, unconvinced.  
  
“Then they're paying for a story that every little hobbit child this side of the Water has heard their whole life. Mad Baggins! Who appears and disappears with a bang!” he laughed. Merry and Fatty exchanged looks.  
  
“Even in Tookbank, you must have heard some dark whispers,” Merry said. Pippin sobered, frowning.  
  
“Well. Just the old stuff. The complaints about Frodo having seemingly infinite wealth and infinite youth.” He smiled, “If you throw in sudden turns of bad luck, mysterious guests, and darkness all about him then that's a witch's brew if ever I heard one,” he smiled, “Are we sure he isn't just becoming a conjurer himself?" Merry shot him a dark look.  
  
"I wish you weren't so close to the truth," he said.  
  
"Frodo? A conjurer?"  
  
"Not exactly. But too close for comfort," Merry murmured.  
  
"Go on Merry," Fatty said, "is this more of that _Bilbo's dark inheritance_ talk?"  
  
"Don't talk about that here," Merry hissed. Fatty chuckled and relented.  
  
"Well I don't credit any of this magic business," Pippin said, "but if you think Frodo is in danger at all, I'll give whatever help I may."  
  
"And we are appreciative, young Thane, but we need a fourth in our dark company, and that fourth must be Sam Gamgee," Fatty shook his head.  
  
"I'll make Sam understand," Merry said quietly, "if he understands it the way we understand it, then I think he'll help. If he knows it's Frodo's life at risk."  
  
"But would he ever believe that?" Pippin mused, staring out across the golden countryside. "The heart of the Shire is so peaceful. He may not understand."  
  
"He grew up on Bilbo's stories," Merry said grimly, "we've a chance at least."  
  
"If anyone can make Samwise Gamgee into a Conspirator, it's you, Merry-lad," Fatty said. Merry smiled wanly.

 <>O<>O<>O<> 

After Madam Malkin left, Merry had gone to the kitchen and prepared as many of Frodo’s favorite foods as he could, including a hearty Brandy Hall variety of vegetable soup, baked chicken and bread. Frodo had seemed more at ease.  
  
After they'd eaten, Merry sent Pippin and Fatty down to the orchard to pick apples. He had a mind to make tart for their breakfast in the morning. Besides, he wanted a little time to speak with Frodo alone. Frodo adored Pippin and Fatty, but Merry knew he was the one Frodo was closest too, since Frodo had grown up in Brandy Hall, treated almost as an older brother to Merry.  
  
He brought Frodo tea as he retired to the parlor and sat with him, putting an arm around his shoulders. Frodo turned and blinked at him.  
  
“My goodness. What has brought this on?” he asked. Merry snorted.  
  
“It couldn’t be that you nearly died this morning, could it?” he asked dryly. Frodo had the decency to look ashamed.  
  
“Well, I didn't,” he grumbled, but he didn't shake Merry off. Silence stretched comfortably between them for a few moments.  
  
“I meant to ask you,” Merry said quietly, “what’s all this you said in your letter about not visiting Buckland for Yule?” Frodo shifted, squirming a little.  
  
“I don’t know,” he sighed, “Last Yule all I did it seems was dance with relations I don’t know anymore and fight off engagement offers.”  
  
“That’s why?” he asked.  
  
“I want to stay here,” Frodo admitted in a small voice, “I haven’t, you know, since Bilbo left.”  
  
“You want to spend Yule with the Gamgees?” Merry asked. He felt Frodo stiffen.  
  
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Merry said. “Of course not. But I’m afraid if you’re having a Yule party here Pippin and I will have to crash it.” Frodo lifted his head to look up at Merry, his eyes bright. Then, he frowned, shaking his head.  
  
“But you can’t. Your mother and father would never let you be away from Buckland at Yule. And Pippin could never get away from his duties.”  
  
“Ma-ma and Pa-pa will get over it. I’m not the Master of Buckland yet,” Merry said carelessly, “and as for Pippin, I’m sure I can find a way to spring him. If I have to break into the Great Smials in the middle of the night I will.” Frodo pressed his cheek to Merry’s shoulder.  
  
“You’d do that for me?” he asked.  
  
“Don’t be absurd Frodo,” Merry said. He paused a moment then said quietly, “You know, when you wrote to say you were staying in Hobbiton, I thought it might be because you had found a lover.” Frodo looked up at him in astonishment.  
  
“Merry, don’t be silly,” he said. Merry frowned a little.  
  
“What’s silly about it?” he asked. Frodo ducked his head back down.  
  
“Oh I don't know,” he sighed.  
  
“You are happy here, aren't you?” Merry asked.  
  
“Of course I am.”  
  
“I would like it if you moved back to Buckland. Or at least somewhere close to your friends.”  
  
“I have some friends here,” Frodo remarked, frowning a little.  
  
“Real friends, I mean,” Merry said lightly.  
  
“What's this about?” Frodo asked, peering at him. Merry blinked and glanced toward the fire, frowning.  
  
“You've just seemed a little unsettled lately. I've even heard you don't go down to Hobbiton but once in a great while. More likely to be wandering the lonely roads.”  
  
“What's wrong with that?”  
  
“Nothing. It's just a change. Your not melancholic are you?”  
  
“No Merry,” Frodo turned a half smile on his cousin, “there's something about Bag End and the lands around here. I just have the feeling that I need to enjoy it. And that I haven't always done that in years past. This place is so dear to me.” Merry gave him a bewildered look. “I know, it seems mad. I'm not cracking though. I promise you.”  
  
“Honest?”  
  
“Honest,” Frodo told him. “Though I have been a little, as you say, unsettled lately.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yes. Maybe it's the season,” Frodo sighed, “Fall has an odd effect on some hobbits. That's what Bilbo always said. Something or another about Took blood.”  
  
“You feeling any urges to take off into the Blue?” Merry asked. His voice was joking, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety. Frodo blinked.  
  
“No. Nothing like that. It's more that I'm starting at shadows, I think,” he smiled, “It is nice to have you and Fatty and Pippin visiting. You all are a comfort to me.”  
  
“If you came to live in Buckland we could see you more often. You'd be around family. Not these neighbors who talk rubbish behind your back.”  
  
“They don't mean anything by it,” Frodo protested weakly. He sighed, “I am tired of it though.” He closed his eyes, adding, “I've lived here for decades. I thought they would learn to accept me. But that was maybe a foolish hope. They hardly accepted Bilbo, and he lived here his whole life.” Merry eased.  
  
“Bilbo didn't care though,” he said. Frodo opened his eyes and smiled.  
  
“No. Bilbo always did as he pleased and felt at home even among the gossips.”  
  
“Until he didn't,” Merry murmured. Frodo's expression froze and Merry immediately regretted his words.  
  
“Well,” Frodo said, “that's true.”  
  
“Ah, Frodo. I'm sorry.”  
  
“It's alright. I'm not sad about it anymore.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“And maybe, I'm beginning to understand why he left,” Frodo said softly. Merry felt a chill.  
  
“Come to Buckland,” he urged quietly. Frodo sighed.  
  
“We'll see,” he said. Merry took a breath, then sat up.  
  
“In the meantime,” he said, easing his voice into a lighter tone, “I think we should go to the pub.”  
  
“The pub?” Frodo asked, frowning.  
  
“Yes. You have guests, Frodo. Take us out.”  
  
“I have a whole wine cellar and two casks of beer, you know,” Frodo said. Merry rolled his eyes.  
  
“That's not very sociable.”  
  
“I almost died this morning,” Frodo reminded him. Merry nodded thoughtfully.  
  
“All the more reason to celebrate being alive.”  
  
“Did I hear talk of going out?” Pippin asked, appearing in the door, with Fatty close behind.  
  
“Ivy Bush?” Fatty prompted.  
  
“No,” Pippin snorted, “the Ivy Bush is full of old folks. The Green Dragon is cheerier.”  
  
“You like the Ivy Bush, don't you Frodo?” Fatty asked hopefully.  
  
“I am very careful not to show a preference,” Frodo said seriously.  
  
“Well I like the Dragon,” Merry said and Fatty sighed.  
  
“Outnumbered again,” he grumbled and went to find his coat.  
  
“I thought I was still arguing against going out,” Frodo commented as Merry rose and Pippin went to find a lantern. Merry glanced at him.  
  
“No. You lost that argument a while back. Come on. There's no use fighting us on this,” he said. Frodo remained motionless scowling slightly. Merry chuckled and went into the front hallway, where he found his coat and threw it on. Frodo followed behind him, despite his grumblings.  
  
The four gentlehobbits stepped out into the chill evening air, the first stars just beginning to show against the darkening sky. Pippin began to sing a drinking song, drowning out their chatter. When Frodo joined in, Merry felt himself relaxing. He smiled as he watched the lamp lit faces of his friends, and in that moment, he felt perfectly happy.


	4. Creatures of the Night

Sam sipped his beer and coughed as his brother slapped his back. He held his mug out, trying not to spill and sent a glare at Hamson. Hamson only laughed and turned to Tom Cotton. Across the pub, Frodo was flushed and waving his arms as he told a story to several spell bound hobbits crowded around him. Merry seemed to be helping fill in the details, cutting in and interrupting, much to Frodo's obvious irritation. Sam felt a smile growing on his face, watching the cousins. He sometimes forgot how at home Frodo was in a crowd, telling stories or spreading cheer among his guests. Sam didn't often get to see that side of him, more accustom to seeing Frodo strolling the countryside on solitary journeys or at home in Bag End, doing accounts. It was nice to see him having so much fun.  
  
Merry broke in once more and turned abruptly to Frodo, grasping his shoulders and leaned in, pressing a kiss on him. Frodo froze for a moment, then he pushed Merry away, spilling his beer as he did. Noticing this, he smacked Merry hard. Merry howled in indignation, but they were both laughing. Sam tried not to stare.  
  
_Sakes, gentry know about that?_ he wondered. Beside him Fan Greenholm whistled.  
  
“You see that?” he asked. Tom snorted.  
  
“Mr. Merry getting a might frisky? That's Bucklanders for you,” he said. Sam frowned and turned back, sipping his beer.  
  
“Didn't think Mr. Frodo and his kin went in for that nastiness,” Hamson said stiffly. Sam stared hard at his beer but kept quiet, hurt at his brother's words.  
  
“Don't be an ass Hamson,” Tom Cotton said, “Tis just some play. Ain't the gentry allow to have a bit of fun?”  
  
“If I was him, I'd not give the folks around here any more reasons to dislike me.”  
  
“What are you on about?” Sam asked. His brother fixed him in a hard gaze.  
  
“Folks out in the country say there's trouble. And whenever folks talk about trouble they talk about the Bagginses. On account of old Mr. Bilbo's wild cracked ways and all the strangers that would visit the Hill. They say the Baggins of Overhill draws trouble.”  
  
“That's daft talk and you know it,” Sam said quietly. Hamson looked unimpressed.  
  
“Maybe. I don't know though. A lot of what folks say seems to have some truth to it,” he said. Sam frowned and drank his beer.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Fredegar Bolger stepped out of the pub, taking a deep breath of the evening air. He'd been ordering another round of drinks for his friends when a young hobbit stepped up to the counter and introduced himself as Hob Hatfield. He'd asked Fatty to follow him outside for a minute, as there was someone who wanted a word with one of Frodo's friends. Fatty had been irritated- his food would get cold- but he went out anyway, affecting good cheer.  
  
He followed Hob out behind the pub where there was a nice fire pit burning to keep back the chill. Some of the hobbits seated round the pit were roasting meat on skewers, filling the air with a mouth watering smell. Fatty paused, breathing it in.  
  
“He's just over here, sir,” Hob said, leading Fatty on past the fire pit to a darkened corner of the back garden. Fatty sighed and followed. He hoped this business was short.  
  
“This is Bugsey Turnplow,” Hob said, putting his hand on the back of a dumpy looking rustic with a downcast face.  
  
“Pleased, I'm sure,” Fatty said. Bugsey looked up, but dropped his gaze again.

“Go on, tell him what you told me,” Hob said, pushing Bugsey at Fatty. The hobbit blanched.  
  
“I wasn't meaning no harm to Mr. Baggins. Honest,” he stammered.  
  
“Harm?” Fatty frowned a moment, not always the quickest on the uptake.  
  
“You haven't heard, sir? Bugsey was the one as put funny mushrooms in Mr. Baggins' basket.”  
  
“What?” Fatty cried.  
  
“I didn't know they were death cap!” Bugsey protested. Fatty took a deep breath.  
  
“Any reason I shouldn't call for the nearest shirriff?” he growled.  
  
“It's like I told you, sir! I didn't mean no harm!”  
  
“Really?” Fatty asked skeptically, "you have a funny way of going about it."  
  
“It's true! I'm not even much of one for pranks usually, and I didn't go to the Cotton farm with any ill will. I swear it.”  
  
“So? Why did you do it?” Fatty asked in a hard voice. Bugsey shuffled uneasily.  
  
“You'll think me daft, but a fairy told me to do it.”  
  
“What?” Fatty asked flatly. Bugsey raised his eyes and met Fatty’s stare. To the gentlehobbit’s shock Bugsey looked sincere and more than a little frightened.  
  
"A fairy, sir," he said, "tall with bright eyes. It told me that it would be a great trick to play and that everyone would think it very funny. And that Frodo deserved to have the pluck taken out of him. So I did it." He shook his head, "at the time, I hardly thought how strange it all was. I wasn't even scared to talk to the fairy. And I wanted to do what it told me."  
  
"I'm just," Fatty said in consternation, "a little unclear about this... claim. How did you come to be talking to one of the Fair Folk?"  
  
"I was in my garden," Bugsey said. Fatty blinked.  
  
"Your garden? Not in the woods?"  
  
"Nay. In me own garden. I looked up, and seen the fairy, watching me."  
  
"I see."  
  
"You don't believe me, Mr. Bolger?" Bugsey asked, dismayed. Fatty shook himself from his thoughts.  
  
"I don't know what to think, to be honest," he said, "but it's not for me to say. Frodo is the one who must decide."  
  
"Will you tell him what I told you, Mr. Bolger? Only, I don't want to ruin the master's night out," he said. Fatty nodded.  
  
"I'll tell Frodo what you told me. In the meantime, I hope you will refrain from any more tricks."  
  
"Yes sir," Bugsey said and tipped his cap, "Good night to you, sir."  
  
"Good night," Fatty told them and made his way back toward the crowd in front of the Dragon. The gentlehobbit's mind was racing. The easiest thing to believe was that Bugsey was lying about the whole thing.  Afraid of the shirriffs... or maybe of the thrashing that Frodo's friends might give him. But then there was that very peculiar look in his eyes. It was the look of a hobbit who has encountered something queer. And there had been honesty in those eyes too. And if he was being honest...  
  
Fatty didn't know very much about the Fair Folk, but if you were friends with Frodo you couldn't avoid hearing a bit about them. One thing Fatty was certain of, one thing that made him feel ill at ease - the Fair Folk traveled in the woods. They did not wander into a hobbit's back garden. And they did not try and turn hobbits to murder.  
  
If Bugsey had seen something in his garden, it hadn't been one of the Fair Folk.  
  
Despite the warmth of the nearby fire pit, Fatty shivered.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

They had not meant to drink so much. Well, Merry thought, maybe Frodo had, judging by the way he had only protested weakly at the beginning when they brought him his second drink. Merry had lost count after that, but he suspected that Frodo had had enough to make even a seasoned hobbit well and drunk. Merry himself had been careful to only drink two ales, but whether Proudfoot ale was stronger than Brandy Hall’s or perhaps Pippin was surreptitiously keeping his glass full, Merry knew he was well on the way to being drunk too. When the night had progressed reasonably late Merry stood up from his bench and felt the room tip rather more alarmingly than he had expected.  
  
“Ho there Merry,” Pippin said grinning a little sleepily his cheeks flushed, “Tipsy?”  
  
“I dare say you are too,” Merry retorted. "Where did Fatty get off to?”

"I don't know," Pippin laughed, watching Frodo attempt to stand and sink back down into the bench, looking bewildered. “If we’re tipsy I’d say Frodo’s drunk,” Pippin said. Merry winced. “Frodo, come on. We should get you home,” Pippin said, pulling at his cousin’s arm. Frodo swung clumsily in his directly and smiled drowsily.  
  
“Alright,” he murmured, "And I'm paying," he said and leaned against Pippin.  
  
“You know Frodo, you’re much more agreeable when your soused,” Pippin said, pulling him up unsteadily. Frodo’s head lolled to one side and he clung to Pippin.  
  
"I've already paid," Merry said, watching amused as Frodo attempted to stay vertical. His cousin blinked at him  
  
“Oh well. Next time,” he sighed amiably, “Thank you, Merry.”  
  
Outside it was cool, the temperature having dropped a bit since they arrived at the pub, and Merry was glad of his coat. Pippin staggered suddenly and he and Frodo stumbled forward. Merry let out whoop and caught them both by the collars and pulled them back into a more or less standing position. Pippin hooted. Merry made some kind of grumbling noise and slipped an arm under Frodo’s other side. Pippin kept giggling and leaned heavily against Frodo, throwing them off balance again.  
  
“Pippin, stop that,” Merry said irritably.  
  
“Sorry Merry, can’t help it,” Pippin said between laughs. Merry thought that probably wasn’t much of an exaggeration. For some reason this stuck him as funny and he heard himself joining in. Frodo made some kind of groan, and slumped heavier against Merry’s shoulder.  
  
“Hoy, Frodo you-” Merry started but stopped as a shadow fell across their path. He looked up and saw an older boy he didn’t recognize, but who had Sam’s nose and straw-coloured hair. Merry blinked stupidly, realizing this must be one of Sam’s brothers. He struggled to remember his name, but before he could, Merry heard a familiar voice behind them.  
  
“Sirs?” came Sam’s voice. Merry looked over his shoulder and saw Sam, his hands clasping two mugs of ale. He went to stand by his brother and handed one of the mugs to him. The brother took it, staring at the gentry a little uncomfortably.  
  
“Good evening, Sam,” Pippin said, making an obvious effort not to slur his words. Sam’s eyes focused on Frodo, hanging limp between them. He saw the muscles around Sam’s eyes clench into a particular look. It was the same look Sam had given them when he and Pippin had trod on a rare and prized Elvish plant that Bilbo had gotten specially for his garden. Merry had never been able to forget that look, though Sam had never spoken a word of reproach to them.  
  
“Oh dear. Is Mr. Frodo not feeling well then?” Sam’s thus far unnamed brother asked.

"I am very well," Frodo said squinting, trying to focus on the Gamgee brothers.  
  
“Maybe I ought to help you two take Mr. Frodo back,” Sam said quietly, “Beggin’ pardon, but neither of you seem very steady on your feet.” Sam’s brother looked taken aback by what their Gaffer would have called stepping out of place, but he didn’t say anything. Sam set his mouth into a determined line.  
  
“I’ll see you later Hamson,” Sam said to his brother and handed him the ale. Hamson took it and nodded politely to the cousins.  
  
“Good evening then sirs,” he said. “See you back at Number Three, Sammy,” and with that escaped the awkward scene. Merry stared after him, amused.  
  
“...Sammy?” he murmured but Sam paid him no mind. Instead, he pulled Frodo from Merry’s loose grasp.

"Oh hello Sam," Frodo said hazily. Sam pulled Frodo’s arm over his own shoulders, bracing him. He spared Frodo a glance, his expression softening.

"Hello Mr. Frodo. Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked. Frodo blinked, looking as if he were still having a very difficult time focusing his gaze.

"Erm. Yes very much so," he said.

"I'm glad to hear that, sir," he said and turned his attention back to Merry and Pippin.  
  
“Er… Sam,” Merry started, but wasn’t quite sure what to say. Everything he could think of sounded foolish. He had been in charge tonight, after all. Sam glanced at him, not in an unfriendly way, but not with the normal warmth in his eyes either.  
  
“Ready to head back, sir?” he asked.  
  
“Fatty's disappeared somewhere," Pippin said, "we'll need to find him."

"There's no telling how long that will take," Merry sighed.

"How about I go on then? Mr. Frodo's fair done in I think," Sam said. Merry winced.

"Do you mind?" he asked. Sam shook his head.

"It's no trouble, Mr. Merry. I was thinking of heading back about now anyway," he said.

"Thank you, Sam," Merry said. Sam turned away, pulling Frodo along with him. "Sam? Would you tell Frodo, not to worry if we don't turn up at Bag End?” Sam turned and gave him a look. "I mean! I expect to be along behind you eventually. But it maybe very late. Maybe even dawn. You never can tell with Bolgers and Tooks. And it’s possible we'll end up staying at the Dragon tonight." Sam's expression had reverted back to his customary politeness, but there was still a chilliness in his tone.

"I'll tell him Mr. Merry. Well, good night then, sirs,” he said and turned down the path, leaving them to stand in the cold night. They watched him disappear, Frodo wobbled along as Sam walked him out of town. Merry sighed, long and low.  
  
“We’re firmly on the Sam Gamgee shit list, I think,” he said.  
  
“Oh Merry,” Pippin said, “It was just drinking. It’s not as if we haven’t gotten Frodo drunk before.”  
  
“No, but we’ve never gotten him fall-down drunk, away from home, on the day we find out someone might be trying to murder him,” Merry said bitterly. It was bit reckless, now that he thought about it. "Sam seemed very cross with me when I said we might stay in town," Merry murmured. "What's it to him?" Pippin laughed.

"Sam isn't going to leave Frodo all on his own. Not in that condition! He was probably hoping we'd be there to take care of Frodo."

"Oh nonsense!"

"I tell you, it's true, Merry."

"I never meant for him to have to do that."

"Well. Sam dotes on our Frodo. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

"No I suppose you're right."

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Sam plodded along the lonely road back to Hobbiton and Overhill. It was late enough that he only met a few hobbits on the road, though there was a noisy group of drunken hobbits a ways behind him, probably on their way to Hobbiton.  
  
Sam turned his attention to the warm weight draped against him. As he left town Frodo’s ability to put one foot in front of the other had diminished to the point that he was leaning most of his weight onto Sam.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" he asked. Frodo only made a drowsy grumble. Sam smiled and thought of trying to borrow a wheelbarrow, but the thought of putting Frodo in a cart and hauling him around like goods seemed a little disrespectful. Frodo said something else unintelligible and then sighed.  
  
“Poor Mr. Frodo,” Sam murmured, “You’re not going to like tomorrow morning.” He cast about in his mind for the ingredients he’d need to make some of that hangover tonic Bilbo used to make.  
  
“Ugh. Why didn't we drive into Bywater?” Frodo moaned. Sam smiled.  
  
“There now sir, I’ll get you back home,” Sam said quietly, patting Frodo’s back with the hand he was using to steady him. Frodo sniffed and murmured something else, too quiet to hear and seemed to slip back into his drowsy daze. Sam patted his back again. At least Frodo wasn't so far gone that he couldn't walk. If he started to dose in earnest then Sam would have to find a wheelbarrow.  
  
They were coming into Hobbiton now and Sam wasn’t eager to walk down the main drag with a near unconscious Master of Bag End leaning on his shoulder, no matter how late it was. Though it would add a few minutes to his walk Sam made his way off the path and through the field that surrounded the small town. As he left the path Sam noticed that the band of drunken hobbits behind him had dispersed somewhat, turning to find their homes, he supposed.  
  
_Less chance of gossip_ , Sam thought, _if no one notices its Frodo I’ve got here._ Matrons in town sometimes waited up and watched hobbits amble back from the pub, giving them a stink face if they stumbled or showed signs of drunkeness. Busybodies, Sam always thought them and usually paid them no mind, but Frodo was in a position to attract much more attention than he. And that attention had been wearing on him of late. Once Sam began to see how it affected Frodo, he had vowed to do what he could to shield the gentlehobbit.  
  
The fields around Hobbiton were quiet but as Sam stepped through the high dead grass, he thought he heard something behind him. He turned to look but couldn’t see anything.  
  
_An animal?_ He thought, a little nervously. It had been very quiet though, like hobbit feet. Sam shivered and pressed on quickening his pace.  
  
_You’re starting at shadows,_ he thought. But as he progressed he heard the sound again, and this time there couldn’t be any mistaking it. Sam glanced behind him and saw three small figures following him at a distance. There wasn’t anything necessarily alarming about seeing other hobbits out, but Sam wondered why anyone else would take his path through fields when there was a perfectly good road. Never the less, he told himself not to be silly. There might be any number of reasons for a hobbit to use the fields rather than the road. Frodo’s shoulders tensed and Sam wondered if he was more awake than he had been. In any case, Frodo made no sound.  
  
Sam cut through the last field and joined the path again, sooner than he had been planning on. His shoulders ached and his lungs burned but he wasn’t stopping to rest anymore. They crossed the bridge over the Water, their feet pattering softly over the wood. Together they struggled on, Sam setting a brisk hard pace for them, and Frodo valiantly kept up with him, voicing no complaint.  
  
_I'm working meself into a tizzy for nothing and running Mr. Frodo ragged besides,_ he told himself sternly, but Sam had begun to feel a creeping dread from the figures behind him. Hobbits loved to talk and sing, even at night. He'd expected to hear a little chatter from the group, but they were deathly silent.  
  
Sam turned off at the forked path. He hoped feverishly that the other hobbits would continue on the road to Overhill. Surely they would, he thought, for the road he was on now only led to Bag Shot Row and Bag End, and by the shapes of the figures he knew them not to be his neighbors. Yet, when the trio reached the path, they turned left, following Sam. It was only then that Sam felt his skin go cold with sweat and his heart began to race. There was no doubt now that he was being followed.  
  
Sam didn’t really know what the three wanted, but he didn’t think it had much to do with him, clearly a working hobbit, dressed in homespun. It must be the finely dressed Frodo they wanted. Perhaps they wanted to rob him and figured one hobbit to three were good enough odds to try on. But that wasn’t important now; what was important was getting back to Bag End. Sam tried to quicken his pace but his strength was failing. The three were easily keeping pace with him, he could tell by the sound of their footfalls. They hadn’t an inebriated hobbit slung against their shoulder to contend with.  
  
Sam caught the faint smell of decay on the wind and wrinkled his nose. Something must have died near here, he reflected, even as he glanced back, fearful. The stench heightened his fear and sent his heart racing. Sam passed the oak that meant he was about to come up on the entrance to Bag Shot row, and relative safety. He was pretty sure that once he got to the row, if the three tried anything he could give a yell for help, but right now he was still too far away.  
  
_Just get to the row,_ he thought anxiously. Sam had no illusions about his fighting abilities. Good they might be, but against three hobbits in the dark, while trying to keep them off his master and already exhausted would be too much.  
  
Sam rounded the last corner, his legs burning. He was about to reach safety, and as his eyes sought for the open row gate his blood froze.  
  
There, waiting at the gate was another strange hobbit with big arms. Sam stared, dumbfounded. He was about to give a shout, when the clouds shifted, and a little more light fell on the hobbit standing before him.  
  
It didn't have a face.  
  
Sam let out a cry of fear and stepped back. A wave of smell hit him and Sam gagged, death and decay overwhelming his senses. Worst of all, the hobbit-thing was moving toward him and there were sounds of the three behind drawing closer, moving quick now.  
  
Sam broke into an unthinking panicked run, off the path, dragging Frodo with him. Frodo made a harsh grunt and his head snapped up, his feet moving to keep pace with Sam.  
  
Sam dove through the hedgerow. There was a cry behind him, but Sam paid it no heed. He bolted across the party field, running blindly as the tall grass whipped his legs. Part of his brain kicked back on and Sam realized he ought to be circling to the right, so that he could reach the little path that ran behind the holes on the row.  
  
His breath was coming ragged now and he could hear sounds of pursuit, though fairly far back. Apparently running through the hedge hadn’t been part of the creature's plans. Sam could now begin to make out the faint rise that marked his own hole, and though he couldn’t see it, he knew exactly where the back door lay. Frodo was stoutly keeping up. When Sam had glanced at him he'd seen Frodo's eyes fluttering open, as his head bobbed, unsteadily.  
  
Sam put on a final burst of speed and bolted through the garden into the overhanging little porch dug out in the back. He grabbed the knob and swung the door open, rushed inside and slammed the heavy door behind him.  
  
“Sam, what in the Shire do you think you’re doing?” Marigold screeched, jumping up from her sewing at the hearth. When she saw it was Frodo leaning heavily against her brother, she gave another soft shriek. Sam busily lay Frodo down and ran back to the door, bolting it, then rushed about, shutting the windows and locking the front door.  
  
“Sam!” Marigold’s voice had turned to a whisper, but she still sounded outraged.  
  
“Hush Mari!” Sam scolded. “Where’s Da?”  
  
“Where do you think? Asleep,” she answered indignantly. “When he sees you brought the master down here in the middle of the night,” she stopped and looked over at Frodo, sprawled out on the bench near the back door. “What’s wrong with Mr. Frodo?” she asked, suddenly sounding concerned.  
  
“Drank too much,” Sam said. Marigold turned on him and beat him about the head.  
  
“You ass! What’s the matter with you?” she whispered angrily, “Take him to Bag End! Himself shouldn’t ‘ave to be fussed over by the Gamgees! He’s a grown hobbit, Sam, for heavens sake!”  
  
“Stop it!” Sam said, swatting at her. “Some... strangers followed me back to the hole. I couldn’t make it to Bag End.”  
  
“Strangers? Here?” she asked incredulously, “Oi Sam! You and your fancies-!”  
  
“T'was't a fancy!” Sam hissed, still looking around to make sure the hole was secure. He wasn’t too sure of how far those things might go to get at him. He shivered. How much trouble would it be for a creature like that to tear down a door?  
  
There was a soft sound from further in the hole and Hamfast emerged from his room. He came into the light and spied Frodo on the bench in the back. His face went stony, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he moved into the back and bent down to look at Frodo’s slumped form.  
  
“Sam says he was followed back here,” Marigold’s voice came.  
  
“Followed back by who?” the Gaffer asked gruffly, still staring at Frodo. Frodo's eyes fluttered open and he made an attempt to straighten.  
  
“Good evening Master Gamgee,” he said, looking as if he were trying to force himself sober and failing miserably. Hamfast peered at him.  
  
“Good evening, Mr. Frodo,” he said, adding, “excuse me a moment, sir.” Hamfast turned back to his son. “Well?”  
  
“I don’t know sir,” Sam said. “Strangers. One was waiting for me at the gate to the row.” The old gardener frowned and got to his feet once more, stalking toward the front of the smial, motioning for his son to follow him. Sam drew close and Gaffer said in an undertone, “How much has Mr. Frodo had?”  
  
“I don’t know sir,” Sam said again, and felt useless. The Gaffer considered this.  
  
“Hamson didn’t come back with you?” he asked and glanced at Sam this time. Sam shook his head. “Go get a stick and see if those rascals are still out there, then. I won’t have strangers on the row causing trouble.”  
  
“They were,” Sam stopped himself from speaking, trying to find the right words. Hamfast glanced up at him, his eyebrows drawing together into a scowl. “They were... very strange, da.”  
  
“What?” Hamfast barked.  
  
“They didn't exactly seem all together...” Sam winced, knowing he sounded like a half-wit, “they might not have been hobbits.” Hamfast went deathly still.  
  
“Dwarves?” the old gardener breathed. Sam met his father's eyes and shook his head. Hamfast considered this, his mouth working to find words. He moved deeper into the smial again. “Get some water, Mari,” he said, approaching Frodo again.  
  
“Yes Da,” she said and went to the stove, where there were a few gallons stored for drinking and cooking that had been pumped earlier in the day. The Gaffer meanwhile took Frodo by the shoulders and propped him up, muttering as he did,  
  
“Beggin’ your pardon sir.” Frodo only blinked at him, his gaze unfocused once more. Marigold brought the water in an earthen mug and the Gaffer took it. “Mr. Frodo sir?” the Gaffer said, raising his voice a bit, “You need to wake up now, and drink some water if you can.” Frodo’s eyes focused on the mug the Gaffer held in front of him. He looked at it stupidly for a moment, before reaching out to take it, though the Gaffer wisely kept his hand on the mug handle, should Frodo drop it. “There sir, that’s better, drink as much as you can now,” the Gaffer said quietly. Frodo obediently drank, but as he finished he sank back against the smial wall and closed his eyes once more.  
  
“Poor lad,” Marigold murmured too quiet for the Gaffer to hear, but Sam heard it. She glanced over, meeting his eyes.  
  
“Come along now sir,” the Gaffer grunted and bent, pulling Frodo up in one solid motion to stand beside him, slipping an arm around his back to support him. Frodo staggered but seemed to do his best to stand, leaning heavily against the Gaffer.  
  
“Da, I can,” Sam started, looking alarmed at the pair of them, but the Gaffer waved him off.  
  
“I got him,” he grunted. Sam hung back, watching worriedly as the Gaffer walked Frodo into what had been Sam and Hamson’s room. Marigold followed after him.  
  
“Pull the blankets back Mari, there’s a good girl,” the Gaffer said. Marigold hastened to comply and the Gaffer laid Frodo down, pulling the thin blankets back around him. As soon as Frodo lay down his body went slack and his eyes slipped shut, as if he had only been waiting to find a bed before he lost consciousness completely. Sam watched as the Gaffer paused standing at the bedside, looking down on Frodo.  
  
“Oh lad,” he murmured, then straightened and went out, Mari following him back into the kitchen. “Where are Mr. Frodo's friends?” he asked Sam.  
  
“Probably still in Bywater. Mr. Merry said they might be staying at the Dragon,” Sam answered reluctantly. The Gaffer frowned.  
  
“And why isn't Mr. Frodo with them? Did he ask you to bring him back?”  
  
“Well, no,” Sam murmured, shamed faced, “his cousins were going to take him back, but then I offered. So they stayed on.”  
  
“If he was that drunk he ought to have stayed at the Dragon,” the Gaffer groused, “they know how to care for drunk hobbits.” Sam bowed his head. His father squinted at him. “You weren't pushy about bringing him back to the Hill were you?” the Gaffer asked suspiciously. Sam flushed.  
  
“Well,” he said, “maybe a bit.” His father sighed.  
  
“That wasn’t your place, Sam,” the Gaffer told him wearily.  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“Then why’d you do it?”  
  
“I didn't want him embarrassed,” Sam said and squeezed his eyes shut, “Folks talk something awful about him already, and if he ever does anything then that’s all we hear for months.” The Gaffer was studying him closely.  
  
“Who do you think the strangers were?” he asked finally. Sam blinked, feeling confused.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“You said they weren't hobbits. What was they, then?”  
  
“I can't say,” Sam murmured, “stood on two legs like a hobbit, but the face was wrong.”  
  
“Hm,” the Gaffer breathed and after a pause said, “I don’t like this. I don't like that Mr. Frodo was poisoned and then followed. All on the same day. It don't none of it don’t sit right.”  
  
“No sir,” said Sam. They stood another moment in silence. Then the Gaffer patted Sam on the back.  
  
There was a knocking at the door. The Gamgees froze. The second knock was harder. Marigold began to move forward but the Gaffer clamped a hand on his daughter's shoulder.  
  
“Nay lass,” the old hobbit breathed. The knocking came again. The Gaffer met Sam's gaze. “Go to your master, lad. He may have need of you.”  
  
“But Da,” Sam began to protest. The Gaffer went to the stove and drew up the heavy iron poker.  
  
“Go on. If there's trouble from whoever is out there, then I'll handle it.” Sam shivered, meeting his sister's frightened eyes. The door to the girl's room opened and Daisy stuck her head out, blinking and groggy. Marigold went to her and pushed her back into the room, whispering quiet frightened words. Sam took a breath and did as his father told him, going into his room and closed the door. He could still hear the knocking.  
  
Inside his room it was dark, except for the moonlight coming in through the small round window at the far end. Sam pulled out the chair he kept at his prized writing desk, an old cast off of Bilbo’s. He moved the chair to the bedside and sat, looking down at Frodo, lying under the covers, painted pale in the moonlight.  
  
The knocking came again.  
  
Sam shuddered and pulled his chair closer to the bed, reaching out for Frodo's hand. After what he'd seen in the lane and the insistent knocking, it was all he could do not to crawl up next to Frodo and bury his head against the gentlehobbit's shoulder, the way he might have done as a child when Bilbo told his more frightening tales. He wished Frodo was awake and had his senses. Frodo would know what to do about all of this.  
  
A shadow fell across Frodo's face. Sam wrenched around to the window and saw a dark shape peering in at him. Panic jolted through him and Sam was up. He grabbed a broom at his bedside and got onto the bed, positioning himself between Frodo and the creature.  
  
“Dad!” he shouted. Though most detail was obscured by the darkness, Sam could see now that it wasn't so much that it hadn't a face, but that the face it had was so rotten that it had lost much of its shape. The only part that didn't seem rotten were it's burning cold eyes.   
  
A moment later the door was pulled open and the Gaffer came in, iron poker still in hand. The old gardener let out a shout and raised the poker. The figure darted away, disappearing from view. After a tense moment, the Gaffer eased and turned to Sam.  
  
“Alright lad?” he asked, wearily. Sam nodded, feeling like he was on the verge of tears. The Gaffer's gaze shifted. “And you, sir?” Sam turned with a start and found that Frodo was sitting up behind him, eyes wide. Frodo turned to the Gaffer and nodded. Sam made to move off the bed but Frodo laid a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Sam? Where am I?” he asked in a whisper.  
  
“Number Three,” Sam said quietly. Frodo blinked at this and looked around the room, dazed.  
  
“Was there something at the window?” Frodo murmured, swaying. Sam moved closer and held him steady.  
  
“Aye,” Sam breathed, “but it's gone now.”  
  
“Good,” Frodo said firmly. Sam turned to share a glance with his father. Hamfast nodded to him and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. Frodo was silent a moment, rubbing his head looking bewildered.  
  
“This is your room isn’t it? There’s Bilbo’s old desk,” and Frodo smiled a little crookedly, gazing at the piece of furniture behind Sam.  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and sighed. Frodo was still very drunk. He probably wouldn't be able to get much sense out of him, nor tell him anything. He wondered how much of all this Frodo would even remember come morning. The gentlehobbit turned his eyes on Sam and stared at him for a moment.  
  
“Who were those hobbits following us?” he asked. Sam blinked. Maybe not so senseless, then. Frodo squinted and added, “Or, was that a dream?”  
  
“No sir, no dream,” Sam said quietly and paused. Had Frodo seen the same things that he had? Sam's eyes drifted to the window again. Only moonlight shone through now.  
  
“Samwise?” Frodo's voice was soft and concerned. Sam turned back to him.  
  
“I don’t know who they were, but they followed us from Bywater to the row, and chased us across the party field.” Frodo's eyes went glassy again.  
  
“Oh, that’s why we’re here,” he said, looking around the room once more. Sam went the shelf to take his mug down, then returned to the bedside and dipped the cup into his little drinking water bucket, handing it to Frodo.  
  
“You ought to try and take some more water if you can,” he said. Frodo took the mug and drank. Sam sat down and watched him, his mind sticking at the sight of Frodo’s delicate fingers gripping the sturdy ceramic mug. Frodo finished drinking and handed the mug back to Sam.  
  
“Where did my cousins go?” he asked.  
  
“They stayed at the Dragon,” Sam answered.  
  
“They’re still drinking?” Frodo asked incredulously. Sam shrugged.  
  
“Maybe. Mr. Merry said not to expect them back any time soon. Said they might stay in Bywater.” He paused, seeing Marigold's mug of hangover tonic set on the little table by the bed, “Oh, and this, try and take a bit of this sir, it will make your head feel better,” he said and handed the smaller mug to Frodo. Frodo smiled again.  
  
“Between what you and my cousins have made me drink tonight I think I shall burst soon,” he said. But nonetheless, he drank the mixture, keeping his eyes on Sam’s. Sam had been going to answer but the look of trust in those eyes peering over the cup made his voice dry up. Frodo finished, set the mug back on the table, and returned his gaze to Sam. Sam sat stock still, caught in that look of warmth.  
  
“Come sit by me, Sam,” Frodo said quietly. Sam was still a moment, then he rose and sat on the narrow bed beside Frodo. The gentlehobbit's arm settled on his shoulders and he said, “Thank you.” Sam turned, about to speak, but fell silent. He nodded and leaned down, tucking himself into Frodo's side. His hands were still shaking and his eyes strayed to the window once more.  
  
Sam felt a hand in his hair, stroking his curls. He blinked at that. Frodo had never touched him so tenderly. Sam closed his eyes, liking the feeling, allowing himself to be soothed by the motion.  
  
“I’ve put a strain on you today, haven’t I?”  
  
“It’s nothing, sir,” Sam said, his voice sounding oddly low.  
  
“It isn't nothing to me,” Frodo said. Sam remained silent, not knowing how to answer that. “You're very good to me. I'm sorry if I don't always let you know how I appreciate you. I'm thoughtless, sometimes,” Frodo rambled. Sam opened his eyes and sat up, taking Frodo's hand.  
  
“Nay. You be easy now,” Sam said quietly to him. Frodo focused on him with difficulty.  
  
“I just want to thank you. For.. ah. That is, for,” Frodo frowned. _Oh, bless him,_ Sam thought and patted Frodo's hand.  
  
“You're welcome, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said gently. Frodo's eyes fluttered and he nodded, still frowning. “Now you need to get some rest and sleep this off,” Sam told him. Frodo's eyes focused.  
  
“What if it comes back?”  
  
Sam was caught off guard by the question. His heart sped up at the look of fear in Frodo's eyes.  
  
“I'll keep watch,” Sam said. Frodo frowned but Sam added, “I don't think I can sleep anyway. But you need to.”  
  
“I-”  
  
“Sir,” Sam said, fixing him with a slightly stern look. Frodo eased, abandoning his argument as he slumped back, closing his eyes.  
  
“Alright. But I would do that same for you, you know,” he said. Sam almost laughed. He somehow doubted he would ever end up befuddled while some wild terror stalked him. But never say never when you associate with a Baggins, his old Gaffer always said.  
  
“I know. You're kind and strong. And having you about always makes me feel better,” Sam told him. Frodo opened his eyes and gazed at him. “Go on to sleep, sir. Your Sam won't let anything get at you.” Frodo took a breath and nodded, sinking down into the bed.  
  
“Good night Sam.”  
  
“Good night, sir,” Sam said. He stood and went to the trunk at the end of his bed and pulled out a thick coverlet, laying it on the floor. He sat and drew the blanket around his shoulders, watching Frodo until he was sure he was asleep. Then, Sam rose and quietly and opened the door, peering out into the living smial. His father was seated by the fire, poker still in hand. He turned and spotted Sam.  
  
“Mr. Frodo alright?” he asked softly. Sam nodded.  
  
“What about Hamson?” he whispered. Sam's brother would be heading back to the row soon. The Gaffer looked grave for a moment then shook his head.  
  
“Not much we can do. Asides, you really think that thing was after anyone except for Mr. Frodo?” Sam frowned.  
  
“It went to the window where he was sleeping,” Sam whispered. The Gaffer nodded.  
  
“I think we only saw what we did cause we came between that thing and Mr. Frodo,” the Gaffer sighed and shook his head, “years ago, Mr. Gandalf had a talk with me. He told me things from outside the Shire might come for Mr. Frodo someday. He half scared me to death with all his dark wizard talk. But some part of me never believed it. Well, that will teach me,” he said. Sam stared in shock. Mr. Gandalf had said that?  
  
“Da, what things?” Sam began but Hamfast looked up and closed his mouth, looking sorry he'd said anything.  
  
“Mr. Gandalf told me he didn't know. Said it was just a fear of his,” Hamfast paused, “Never mind it, Samwise. Hamson will be alright and so will Mr. Frodo. You go on to sleep.” Sam nodded, reluctant.  
  
“Yes, sir. Goodnight,” he said and eased the door closed once more, returning to his coverlet. Despite his words, Sam knew the Gaffer would not be at peace until his oldest son was home safe.  
  
Sam sat with his back to the wall, wrapped in the coverlet to keep the chill off.  
  
It should have been some small comfort that the thing wouldn't go after any hobbit it came across, but it wasn't. Somehow that made all of this worse. It meant the thing had a mind more like a hobbit's than like a beasts'. There were things like that in Mr. Bilbo's tales. Dark terrors that roamed the empty moors beyond the bounds of the Shire. And there were stories that the Bounders told, late at night when the candles burned low in the pub and everyone was deep in their cups. There were things that tried to get into the Shire, they said. When some foolish hobbit asked what things, they got dark looks. Usually there wasn't much of an answer given, but once Sam had heard a Bounder whisper that there were creatures that walked on two legs, like a hobbit or a man, but with an appetite for flesh, like a beast.  
  
And Mr. Gandalf had guessed this might happen? Fear hit him harder and Sam shook. They'd lived all these years in peace while some terror that even Mr. Gandalf feared stalked the lands, looking for Frodo?  
  
Sam resolutely turned his thoughts away from that dark possibility. Instead, he thought of Frodo and watched the window. But the figure did not return.


	5. Conspirators

Sam could smell Daisy’s hot cakes, cooking over the fire and the earthy scent of tea steeping, as he rolled up his blankets and returned them to the chest at the foot of his bed. He paused and watched Frodo, still asleep curled on his side, and wondered how long they should let him sleep.  
  
Sam shrugged off his shirt and changed into the work clothes hanging on a nail near his desk and went about his morning routine. There was a soft knock at his door and Daisy peeked in.  
  
“Is the master awake?” she asked her voice pitched low. Sam scowled, feeling annoyed at his sister as he always did when she didn’t wait for him to open the door.  
  
“No,” he answered shortly. Daisy raised her eyebrows and tried to look superior.  
  
“Well, I’ve some hot cakes and a strong pot of tea for him,” she said swinging the door wider to reveal the tray she carried. Sam went and took it from her, feeling slightly more affable and popped one of the cakes into his mouth. Daisy hissed, “Those are for the master.”  
  
“He’s not likely to eat six of them,” Sam grumbled back and balanced the tray on his bedside table. Daisy huffed and withdrew, closing the door behind her.  
  
Sam went back to his water basin where he had been washing his face but turned when he heard stirring from the bed. Frodo tried to sit up but stopped half way, closing his eyes and moaned. Sam went slowly to the bedside and poured a cup of tea.  
  
“Damn and blast your eyes, Merry,” Frodo croaked.  
  
“There now sir, take some tea,” Sam said quietly, keeping his voice pitched low as he held the cup out. Frodo groaned and held his hand out, his eyes still closed. Sam pushed the cup into his hands and Frodo took it and sipped. He groaned, muttering a very bad word that Sam had never heard Frodo use.  
  
“That bad sir?” Sam asked, going back to the washstand to clean up. Frodo opened his eyes again and glanced around blearily.  
  
“Where am I?” he asked. Sam frowned.  
  
“Number Three,” he said, wondering how much of Frodo’s memory from the night before was gone.  
  
“Oh, right,” Frodo said and drank more tea.  
  
“There’s hot cakes if you’re hungry,” Sam said. Frodo glanced at the tray and closed his eyes again.  
  
“Sorry. After all that my poor stomach has been though, I can’t even think on food at the moment,” he said weakly and frowned, “Ug. I suppose your whole family knows I’m a drunken good-for-nothing?”  
  
“Now, that’s not so,” Sam said hanging his washcloth up, “They know you’re here and that you had a bit of a rough night,” Sam sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you here and embarrass you.” Frodo waved a hand dismissively.  
  
“There are worse places you could have taken me. I got so wretchedly drunk you would have been within rights to dump me on the Sackville-Baggins’ front step.” He laughed then winced.  
  
“I’ll just see if we’ve some willow-bark,” Sam said going to the door, but Frodo shook his head and began to climb out of bed.  
  
“No, I ought to get up the hill. I don’t want to put your family out more than I have,” he said and stood woozily looking at Sam, “Come with me to Bag End?” he asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said and wondered if it would be patronizing to offer Frodo his arm. He decided it would be, even the way Frodo was stumbling and listing. Together they went out into the kitchen and fire room and found most of the Gamgees sitting at the bench having breakfast. Gaffer Gamgee glanced up and tipped his cap.  
  
“Good morning Mr. Frodo,” he said gruffly. Frodo held himself ridged and bowed.  
  
“Good morning Master Gamgee, Miss Daisy, Miss May,” he said nodding to them, “I am terribly sorry about last night and my disgraceful behavior. I know it is not what you expect from your master and I will forever be grateful for the care you gave me last night.” Gaffer Gamgee gazed at him for a moment, then his hard features softened.  
  
“Tisn’t anything to thank us for sir,” he said and rose stiffly going to Frodo’s side, “Anyway, sir, don’t feel like you can’t count on us Gamgees. We’re always here if you need us.” Sam watched as Frodo’s face took on a look of warm surprise. The Gaffer patted his shoulder and looked at Frodo with an expression that was far more indulgent than Sam had ever seen directed at himself. Frodo smiled back, a genuine smile of gratitude.  
  
“Thank you sir,” he said quietly, then turned to the sisters and nodded again, “And thank you for the tea and cakes, girls.”  
  
“You’re welcome Mr. Frodo,” Daisy and May murmured.  
  
“We’re going up the hill, Da,” Sam said.  
  
“Good day then sir,” the Gaffer said. Daisy rose and pushed a cloth bundle of warm cakes into Sam's hand. Sam thanked her and followed Frodo out the door.  
  
“Good day,” Frodo said, as they left.  
  
They walked up the hill in silence. Frodo seemed suddenly contemplative, though now that he wasn’t under the scrutiny of the Gamgees he was less steady on his feet again. When they reached the round green door Frodo paused and frowned.  
  
“I wonder if I could ask you to take the cart and go to town to collect my cousins and Fatty? If they feel anything like I do they won’t be able to make it back here for some time,” he said and scowled, “Not that the rascals don’t deserve it.” Sam chuckled.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said, “Do you want some more tea before I go?” he asked. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“No, I’ve got some of that hangover tonic Bilbo used to make up on hand. I’ll just drink some of that and maybe sleep a little more.”  
  
“Alright then sir, I hope you feel better,” Sam said.  
  
“Me too,” Frodo said and frowned, “Oh and Sam?”  
  
“Yes sir?”  
  
“Erm, thank you,” Frodo said, staring into the dirt, “for last night. I’m glad you brought me back.” Sam blinked.  
  
“Do you remember much of last night sir?” he asked. Frodo frowned thoughtfully.  
  
“Not much after the pub,” he said, “just that you walked me back and that we ended up at your home.”  
  
“We was followed back to the Row. That's why I didn't take you to Bag End,” Sam said, dropping his voice.  
  
“I wondered about that,” he blinked, ”Followed?”  
  
“Aye,” Sam said slowly, “I know it sounds daft, but it wasn't hobbits that followed us. There was some creature that stalked us. My dad saw it too. It tried to get into Number Three.” Frodo stared at him, astounded. “You don't remember any of that?” Frodo took a breath.  
  
“I'm afraid not,” he said, his voice troubled.  
  
“I know, it don't seem likely. More like something from Mr. Bilbo's tales,” Sam bowed his head. There was a short silence.  
  
“Well, I believe Bilbo's tales,” Frodo said gently. Sam raised his gaze. “And I believe you, Sam.” Sam felt a flood of relief. “What kind of creature?”  
  
“Well,” Sam stuck his hands in his pockets, “it looked like a hobbit at a distance. But the face was wrong. It's nose was gone and it had big cold shining eyes. And it smelled of death.” He took a breath, feeling chilled even in the morning light. “Have you ever read of such a thing?” Frodo frowned, considering.  
  
“There are a few things it could be,” he said slowly.  
  
“What should we do?” Sam asked.  
  
“Do?”  
  
“It seemed like the creature wanted you in particular. It even went to the window in my room when we moved you in there.”  
  
“Oh. I'm almost glad I don't remember. How chilling,” Frodo said. “To answer your question, I suppose we ought to call for a Bounder. Other than that I'm at a loss.”  
  
“Mr. Bilbo didn't tell you how to fight creatures?” he asked. Frodo blinked.  
  
“No,” he said, “and I'm not sure he did very much fighting during his journey. It was mostly trickery and cheek and a lot of sneaking.”  
  
“He fought those spiders,” Sam murmured. Frodo smiled.  
  
“I suppose he did,” he murmured, “but I'd think calling a Bounder would be wiser than trying to face some creature myself, even if I had a sword.”  
  
“You don't have a sword?”  
  
“Bilbo took the only one I've ever know him to have.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“I don't have any business facing any such Wild creature. I'm afraid I'm not made of quite the same stuff as Bilbo,” he tried to make his voice sound light, but Sam detected a slight strain.  
  
“The Bounders are busy these days,” he murmured. Frodo nodded.  
  
“It may be some time before one can come to us. But in the meantime, I think we'll be alright.” He sent Sam a rueful look, “I suppose I can abstain from walking alone at night in the meantime.” Sam blinked. That was all? Of course, he wasn't sure what he'd expected Frodo to do. He ought to be grateful that Frodo even believed him.  
  
“I think we're alright, Sam.”  
  
“But,” Sam took a breath.  
  
“It's the Shire.”  
  
“But,” Sam protested again, “last night, my Dad, he told me something I think you should know.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“He said that years ago, Mr. Gandalf had a talk with him and warned him that someday you could be in danger. He said something from outside the Shire might come for you.”  
  
“What?” Frodo frowned. Sam pushed on, feeling wrenched.  
  
“What if the thing from last night is that thing from outside the Shire? What if something really is after you?” Frodo stared at him, clearly flummoxed.  
  
“Well,” he said slowly, “I can't think of any reason something from outside the Shire would have a quarrel with me. I've barely set foot outside the Shire.”  
  
“But maybe it has something to do with Mr. Bilbo?”  
  
“Bilbo's enemies are all dead or very far away,” Frodo soothed. “And how would they even know about me? And why would they attack me anyway?”  
  
“I... I don't know, sir,” Sam said, feeling like he was on the verge of tears. Frodo was silent a moment.  
  
“Gandalf worries about a lot of things. Wizard things. Those things hardly ever touch us here,” Frodo said soothingly. Sam looked up at him and saw calm in Frodo's eyes. “I'm sorry that he bothered your father with whatever he feared.”  
  
“He knew we'd want to watch out for you,” Sam said. Frodo's eyes softened.  
  
“He knew it and I know it. You are so kind,” he said. Sam bowed his head, not knowing what to say. “How about this, we will take some precautions, but I think whatever you saw last night was something from the Wilds that happened to slip past the Bounders. That happens sometimes. I'll report it, and everything will be alright.” He stepped close and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. “It means so much to me that you are concerned with my well being, but I tell you it's alright.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said, pausing only a moment more.  
  
“When you get back we'll talk more about what we want to do. How about that?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said.  
  
“Good.”  
  
“I'll go on then, if you feel well enough?”  
  
“I'm fine.”  
  
“Right,” Sam took a breath.  
  
“Thank you, Sam.”  
  
“You’re welcome sir.”  
  
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo said and stepped back, going inside and turned, “you’ve my leave to call my cousins and Fatty whatever rude names come to mind.” Sam turned back and grinned.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said and headed down the hill. Sam went down to the pony shed at the bottom of the hill and led Frodo’s coal black pony, Thorin Oakenshield out into the sunlight and hitched him to the cart. Sam enjoyed driving the cart and was looking forward to the ride. He jumped up into the driver’s seat and took hold of the reins.  
  
“Well Thor, let’s go get those rascals,” Sam said and felt a thrill of blasphemy at referring to Frodo’s kin and friends in such a way. He chuckled at himself and drove the pony on toward Hobbiton.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Sam entered Bywater a short while later and steered the cart into an empty space near the side of the Green Dragon. One of the inn attendants came out and greeted him, offering to unhitch Thor and give him breakfast. Sam nodded and pressed a coin into the boy's hand. Then he turned away and went into the Dragon, hoping the gentlehobbits were already down for breakfast. He had things to do and waiting on a bunch of lackadaisical gentlehobbits to rouse themselves after a hard night of drinking wasn't at the top of his list. He needn't have worried though, for almost right away he spotted Merry and Pippin seated in a booth by one of the Dragon's large round windows, sipping coffee and grabbing pasties that were stacked on a plate between them.  
  
“Good morning, Sam,” Merry called and waved him over. Sam headed toward their table, stopping to stand before them.  
  
“Good morning, sir, I'm sorry to interupt your breakfast.”  
  
“Don't be silly, sit down,” Pippin told him and moved down the bench. Sam hesitated a moment, then did as the young gentlehobbit asked. He would occasionally break bread with Frodo, but almost always within the walls of Bag End. Sitting down to breakfast with Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took would earn him a few nosy comments, he knew.  
  
“I'm sorry about asking you to take Frodo back last night,” Merry said, looking sheepish, “was he very much trouble?”  
  
“Of course he wasn't,” Sam said primly.  
  
“I'll bet he's still abed,” Pippin laughed, “poor Frodo can't handle his drink like he used to. Fatty too more and more.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo was up early this morning,” Sam said, “though he told me he was going to rest a bit. He asked me to come down to Bywater with the cart, in case you all would like a ride back to the Hill.”  
  
“Bless you Sam,” Merry grinned. A bar maid slipped between diners and paused at their table, pitcher in hand.  
  
“Hullo Sam,” Myrtle said, “anything to drink for you?”  
  
“No thank you,” Sam said.  
  
“I'll have more coffee please,” Merry said, passing her his mug to fill. “I really did have a mind to follow you as soon as I'd found Fatty, but then the music troupe arrived and well, I rather lost track of the time.”  
  
“It's alright, Mr. Merry.”  
  
“Good thing you didn't,” Myrtle said as she reached for Pippin's mug. “What with the strangers on the road between here and Overhill.”  
  
“What?” Merry asked, blinking. Myrtle gave them a puzzled look.  
  
“Aye,” She turned to Sam, “Didn't you tell them about being followed last night, Sam?” Merry and Pippin turned to stare at Sam, their eyes wide. Sam turned to Myrtle in surprise.  
  
“How'd you hear about that?”  
  
“Marigold told me,” she said. Sam had forgotten that Marigold had planned to come into town early to set up for market.  
  
“Word travels fast,” Pippin murmured. Myrtle gave Sam a faint smile and went off to tend to her other tables.  
  
“Sam, what happened?” Merry asked in a low voice. “Frodo's alright isn't he?”  
  
“Of course he is,” Sam murmured, not liking the way the cousin's attention had turned grim and was suddenly focused on him.  
  
“Who followed you?”  
  
“I don't know,” Sam said, keeping his voice low. “It was like this,” he paused, “I took a path around Hobbiton, since I didn't want gossip should folk be out and see Mr. Frodo. Well, I heard some hobbits behind me, following the path I chose. Thought it was odd, but didn't really get unsettled until I turned off the road to Overhill to take the path to the Row. I could tell they weren't no one who lived out our way.” Sam took a breath, “and then as I got to the row gate, there was another...” Sam tried to find a word. He couldn't in good faith call thing that waited for him at the gate a hobbit, but telling Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took that a phantom had stood before him in the heart of the Shire was also out of the question. “Another. And when I saw that, I took off running through the hedge and then got myself and Mr. Frodo into Number Three.” Pippin frowned, perturbed.  
  
“What a bad joke to play on someone,” he said.  
  
“I don't think it was a joke, begging your pardon.”  
  
“No,” Merry said slowly, regarding Sam carefully. “Where you able to get a clear look at them?”  
  
“Not to do any good.”  
  
“Maybe Lotho hired some ruffians to try and scare Frodo off Bag End,” Pippin snorted.  
  
“Frodo wouldn't be scared off Bag End that easily. I think even Lotho knows that,” Merry said.  
  
“Then what where they? Robbers?” Pippin asked, taking a bite of scone. “It's too bad you didn't recognize them, Sam.”  
  
“I don't like that Frodo was poisoned in the morning and followed home in the evening,” Merry said frowning. Sam nodded.  
  
“My old Gaffer said the same.”  
  
“I believe in consequences in the normal course of things,” Merry said, “but I've learned to be wary of odd things connected up with the Baggines. They draw mischief.” Sam stiffened, not liking to hear Merry talk that way, but at the same time, he knew there was some truth in what he said. And besides, Merry loved his cousin. He wasn't saying those things from spite. Sam lifted his eyes and found that Merry was watching him. He sat back, feeling very uncertain. “Do you have suspicions, Sam?” Merry asked quietly. Sam took a breath and stared hard the floor. Merry sighed, smiling a little. “It's alright. I know. You don't trust us entirely.”  
  
“That's not it, Mr. Merry,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“You don't want to talk about Frodo behind his back,” Pippin suggested.  
  
“That's right,” Sam said, “but... I'm afraid now.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I'm afraid there's things that Mr. Frodo can't protect against. Not alone, anyway. He told me himself, he hasn't the experience or ability to deal with certain things.” Sam took a deep breath and looked up, meeting Merry's eyes. “And I don't know what to do in any case.” Merry's eyes narrowed.  
  
“Samwise, the ones who followed you back from Hobbiton...” he said slowly, “were they hobbits?” Sam stared at Merry, considering his words very carefully.  
  
“Now that I can't say,” he said. Merry held very still, then slid out from the bench and stood, putting several coins down on the table.  
  
“Come with us,” he said and turned away. Pippin gulped his coffee, then followed him, sending Sam a worried look. Sam rose and followed the cousins as they exited the inn's common room and made their way into the tunnels that led up to the guest rooms.  
  
“It should be safe enough to talk here,” Merry said, entering their room, “Pip and I tested it last night, and the Dragon has very thick walls, I'm glad to say.”  
  
“You, tested...?”  
  
“You don't grow up training to be Thane and Master of Buckland without learning to take precautions against being overheard. It's almost a force of habit now,” Pippin told him, chuckling. Sam only blinked at him.  
  
“It's a very useful skill to have these days,” Merry added, his tone grim. Sam nodded. He sat down near the hearth. “So, tell us,” he said, pulling a stool close, “what is it you fear, Sam?”  
  
“Well,” Sam said slowly, hardly knowing where to begin. He still didn't like the idea of telling Frodo's kin so much of his master's business, but he also knew Frodo's plan to leave everything to the Bounders wasn't enough. He was rarely able to convince Frodo of taking hobbit-sense precautions at the best of times, and he only attempted that when he felt strongly enough to speak up. But the stakes were much higher now and Sam couldn't do this on his own. He glanced up and met the cousin's gazes. “I've told Mr. Frodo this, so I'll tell you as well,” he took a breath, “my old Dad, he told me that years ago, Mr. Gandalf told him he was afraid that Mr. Frodo might someday be in danger. He said something from outside the Shire could come for him.” To Sam's relief the cousin's didn't immediately burst into laughter, as he'd expected. Instead their expressions grew grim and they sent meaningful looks at once another. Merry took a few breaths and when he spoke, his voice was very quiet.  
  
“Sam, can you tell us exactly what you saw last night?” he asked.  
  
“I'll try Mr. Merry, but the truth is, I don't know what it is I saw. And what I think I saw, well, it sounds daft.”  
  
“Even if it sounds daft. Pippin and I won't laugh. I promise you,” Merry told him.  
  
“Well, I was followed. That was bad enough. But also, as I was coming down the lane, I smelled something like an animal had got killed. Didn't think much of it, but that smell stayed with me, even as I walked. I think the smell came from those following after me. Then,” Sam shook his head, “then when I come to the gate, the smell was stronger. And the one at the gate, when there was a moment of moonlight on it, I thought it had no face. That's when I just took off running, fair dragging Mr. Frodo, I'm sorry to say.”  
  
“Was Frodo conscious during all this?”  
  
“I don't know. He was conscious enough to run and follow my lead. His eyes were open. But when I spoke with him later at Number Three he thought it was a dream. And he said he had no memory of it this morning.” Sam closed his eyes, shivering and continued, “the thing at the gate, I think it was dead. Dead and still walking. It had bright eyes and it's face was flat, it's nose rotted away. But there was... there was teeth. Aye. I saw them. Shining in the moonlight.” Sam opened his eyes to see the cousins staring at him in appalled silence. “It chased us to Number Three. I bolted the door and windows and it didn't get it. But it knocked at the door.”  
  
“Knocked?” Pippin gasped. Sam swallowed and nodded.  
  
“And kept knocking when we didn't answer. My dad put Mr. Frodo in my room and I went to him there. That's when the knocking stopped and I saw it at the window, looking into my room. Looking at Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“Sam,” Merry breathed, the color draining from his cheeks.  
  
“I shouted for my dad and he came in and it ran off. I don't know what we would have done had it tried to come through the window. I don't know why it didn't try. Tis just a single glass pane. I kept thinking about that all night.”  
  
“You stayed up?” Merry asked, his voice concerned.  
  
“I couldn't sleep. Don't think my dad slept either. I kept a watch out, but it never came back.” Merry closed his eyes, sitting back. Sam sighed. “That's all. I can hardly believe it but it's what I saw.”  
  
“Did Gandalf tell your father what he feared would come for Frodo?”  
  
“No, sir,” Sam said quietly, “Dad said the wizard told him he didn't know.” Merry and Pippin were silent.  
  
“This is certainly a new wrinkle,” Merry said at last, glancing at Pippin. The younger hobbit nodded, then turned to Sam.  
  
“Sam, there's a chance that this is only the beginning of the badness. I think we would all understand if you chose to put a bit of distance between yourself and these terrors.”  
  
“Distance?” Sam asked, frowning.  
  
“Stop working at Bag End,” Pippin said quietly. Sam's eyes bulged. “Or at least, try to not to be around Frodo too much. It's true, what Merry said. Our Frodo does attract mischief.”  
  
“Aside from yesterday there's no mischief up at Bag End,” Sam said testily. The cousins exchanged looks again. “I'm there often enough to know,” Sam protested.  
  
“Frodo doesn't exactly publicize his more unsettling experiences,” Merry said, “Even we don't hear half of what goes on I'm sure. But there have been things in Frodo's letters. Hints of thing.” Merry sighed, “No. I would think he wants to keep things quiet and not burden those around him.” Sam took a breath feeling very unhappy.  
  
“I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him,” he said, hardly aware he'd said it. The moment it was out of his mouth he glanced up, anxious, but the cousins were hanging on his words, their faces just as anxious. “I don't want to put distance between myself and all this. Not if it means leaving Mr. Frodo to face all this without help.”  
  
“Hear hear,” Pippin said, smiling faintly. Sam frowned, afraid that Pippin was making fun.  
  
“We feel the same, Sam,” Merry said, “you don't know what a comfort it is that we aren't alone in that feeling.”  
  
“So,” Sam said slowly, “what do we do?” The cousins eyed him silently for a moment. “Mr. Frodo says he'll call a Bounder.”  
  
“Hm,” Merry hummed.  
  
“You don't think that's a good idea?” Sam asked.  
  
“It's fine,” Pippin said, “but I doubt it will do much good. They're too busy. And since it's the heart of the West Farthering I wonder if they won't take it seriously. Even if it is Frodo that does the asking.”  
  
“That's what I thought,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“We- that is, Pippin, Fatty and I- we have banded together and made a pact and taken certain actions that we believe will help protect Frodo,” Merry said slowly. Sam blinked.  
  
“You... you knew he was in danger before all this?”  
  
“Yes... As I said, he's written things that make us worry. And there's been some rumors...” Merry waved his hands vaguely. Sam frowned. That didn't sound like enough to make his cousins take such steps and he wondered if Merry was maybe not telling him the whole tale. “Anyway, we've been watching him more closely of late. All to make sure he doesn't run off and do something daft.”  
  
“Run off?”  
  
“We have certain suspicions,” Pippin said cryptically. Sam scowled.  
  
“I told you what I know,” he said. Maybe he was stepping past the bounds of politeness but Sam was exhausted and afraid. “Please don't keep back what you know. I want to help Mr. Frodo. You must know that.”  
  
“We do know that,” Merry said, warmly, “in fact, we're counting on it.”  
  
“Alright then,” Sam said testily.  
  
“So you'll help us?” Pippin asked.  
  
“What do you need my help with?” Sam asked slowly, a slight note of suspicion in his voice that he wasn't able to hide. Pippin laughed.  
  
“Just keep an eye on Frodo. A close eye,” Merry said. “That should be enough for now.”  
  
“That's all?” Sam asked.  
  
“And report back to us,” Pippin added.  
  
“Here now,” Sam began.  
  
“We can't help keep Frodo safe if we don't know what he's up to,” Merry said, slightly impatiently. He paused, dropping his voice low, revising his tone. “I'm terrified he'll just go off one night and we'll never see him again.”  
  
“What?” Sam gasped.  
  
“Just like old Bilbo,” Pippin murmured. Sam almost choked. There had always been a fear inside him, ever since Bilbo left, that someday Frodo might do the same. But he'd pushed it down, afraid to admit that fear, even to himself.  
  
“So,” he said after a moment, “you want to know if I see any signs he's packing up for a journey?” Merry nodded.  
  
“He won't make it obvious,” Pippin warned, “you know how little he carries when he goes walking.”  
  
“Aye,” Sam said slowly. He could hardly believe all this. Frodo, go off? Just like that? Without telling a soul?  
  
“He's been... visiting his favorite places,” Merry said quietly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“The ones close to his home,” Merry clarified.  
  
“Saying good bye, we think,” Pippin breathed, “Fatty's kept a bit of a watch on him, and his family gets news from Hobbiton regularly. Enough to know a bit of what Frodo's been up to.” Sam closed his mouth and stared at the hearth in silence. It was true. Frodo had been out on a few short walking tours. Mostly his favorite country walks, retracing paths that Bilbo had shown him long ago. He'd stay at lonely country inns along the way where he could duck out of the rain and spend a peaceful night by the fire, listening to the quiet talk and tales of the rural folk. He'd even taken Sam along for a short trip last month. Sam had been surprised. It wasn't like Frodo to invite him along on such trips. But he had. _Was he saying goodbye to me?_   Sam wondered.  
  
“I'll help you,” Sam said, “I'll keep a watch on him... and report back.”  
  
“Good, lad,” Merry said, relieved.  
  
“You don't know how happy that makes us,” Pippin said.  
  
“Well, it doesn't make me happy, exactly, but I see that it's needful,” Sam said. “In the meantime, what if that thing comes back tonight?” he paused, “Mr. Frodo said he'd talk to me when I got back and we'd work out what to do.”  
  
“Might you stay at Bag End tonight?” Merry asked.  
  
“If I can find a way to get the Gaffer to let me. And Mr. Frodo would have to think it needful. It might not be easy.”  
  
“If you can't, I wonder what we might do,” Pippin mused.  
  
“It couldn't get into Number Three,” Merry said. “Surely it can't get into Bag End, then?”  
  
“But I don't know that for sure,” Sam said stubbornly.  
  
“Ah, if Frodo's agreed to take precautions tonight, then he's resigned to us knowing about your adventure last night.” Merry paused, adding, “he won't like that. And he might be holding a grudge against us for getting him so drunk last night. I had best do some cooking when we get back and try to improve his outlook.”  
  
“He's the one who got drunk,” Pippin huffed, “it's not our fault.”  
  
“It's best not to push Frodo. He's used to getting everything his own way,” Merry laughed and rose. “Well, I'll just go settle up our bill and see if I can't rouse Fatty. See you down at the cart?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and rose as well. Merry went ahead, whistling as he left. Sam went to follow, then paused and glanced back at Pippin.  
  
“Mr. Merry's not telling me everything,” Sam observed. Pippin smiled and stepped to the door, slipping it shut again.  
  
“No, he's not.”  
  
“Now that hardly seems fair,” Sam complained. Pippin laughed.  
  
“I know! But don't feel too bad,” he said, “he won't tell me either.”  
  
“No?” Sam asked in surprise. Pippin shrugged.  
  
“There's only one reason I've ever know Merry to keep secrets from me- he must think it's dangerous to know what he knows.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam murmured. Dangerous? But then, there was something dark and horrible lurking around all of this.  
  
“Feel any better?” Pippin asked. Sam shook his head.  
  
“Not really, Mr. Pippin,” he sighed. Pippin smiled grimly.  
  
“Me either.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Frodo wandered out of his room a few hours later, having managed to sleep a bit and though his hangover headache still throbbed, he was beginning to feel hungry. He headed for the kitchen intending to scavenge his breakfast from leftovers, but as he did, movement in the garden caught his eye. He frowned thinking it must be too soon for Sam to be back.  
  
Frodo moved over to the window and peered out. The form was like Sam’s, but bigger and bent. The Gaffer then, he realized, puttering in the garden trying to look as if he weren’t keeping watch over the defenseless Mr. Baggins. Well there was no sense in that, Frodo decided. He opened the window and leaned out.  
  
“I’ll wish you good morning again Master Gamgee, since I was barely conscious the last time I said it,” Frodo said smiling. The Gaffer looked up and tipped his hat.  
  
“Begging your pardon sir, but you do look a might more pert now,” he said, “My Sam mentioned that you had wanted some advice on your ale storage. I thought if you got to feeling up to it we might have a look at the casks this morning.” Frodo considered this.  
  
_Good old Master Hamfast,_ he thought with grudging admiration, _devising a way to keep me looked after without making anyone feel uncomfortable._  
  
“I am feeling much better, and I would be grateful for any help with the ale. I’m afraid I’m rather hopeless compared with you or Bilbo, and I don’t want to disappoint Hobbiton at the fair this fall.”  
  
“No, sir,” said the Gaffer frowning suddenly, “I couldn’t abide Tuckborough winning again this year.” Frodo waved the Gaffer in and together they made their way to the cellar door, descending the few steps down into the stone chamber that served as the Baggins' wine store. The Gaffer began inspecting the casks, tapping them and listening and standing back staring at the barrels, as if he could see the ale inside. Frodo watched this familiar routine as he found matches and lit the torch, mounted on the wall. The Gaffer put his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. Frodo expected him to launch into a polite lecture about the upkeep of his casks but instead the Gaffer said,  
  
“Sir, did Sam mention any of what happened last night?”  
  
“Yes, he did,” Frodo said slowly, “I'm afraid my memory isn't very clear. He said a creature tried to get at us.”  
  
“That's right. And tried to get into Number Three.”  
  
“I am so very sorry for bringing such trouble on the Gamgees,” Frodo said quietly. Hamfast made a dismissive wave.  
  
“And did Sam say aught about the talk that Mr. Gandalf had with me, all those years ago?”  
  
“Yes. He also mentioned that.”  
  
“I thought he might,” Hamfast nodded, “Maybe I ought to have told you before now, but I tried to make meself believe he was worrying for naught. It didn't seem likely. It's the Shire.”  
  
“It's quite alright. I don't think I would have paid much heed, even if you had told me,” Frodo sighed. Ham nodded.  
  
“Mr. Gandalf told me something else. He said that should anything come after you then we must not let you face it alone. Made me promise him that I would let Sam do his duty and stand by you if the trouble came.” Frodo blinked, shocked. Why had Gandalf asked such a thing of the Gamgees? He felt a jot of anger.  
  
“I am grateful,” Frodo said slowly, “But Gandalf had no right to ask such a thing of you. Or of Sam.”  
  
“Now sir, you know he wasn't asking anything that we wouldn't do for you anyways.” Frodo looked up and met the Gaffer's eyes. He didn't know what to say. Hamfast's expression softened slightly. “Lad, don't face this trouble alone. It's not what any of us want. And you know Mr. Bilbo wouldn't want you to face it alone neither.” Frodo took a breath and closed his eyes.  
  
“There could be danger, you know.”  
  
“Aye,” Hamfast said quietly, “but Samwise won't abide being left out. You must know that. He'll be camping in your potting shed if we tell him he can't follow you about.” Frodo laughed.  
  
“No need for that! Sam is welcome at Bag End for as long as he or you want him to stay.”  
  
“Very good sir. It do ease my mind.”  
  
“Mine as well, if I'm honest,” Frodo said.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

When Sam and the cart rocked back up the hill it was near noon. Frodo emerged, going out to the front step to watch the cart. Sam drove back to the shed and began unhitching the pony. Merry and Pippin jumped out and raced up to meet Frodo, while Fatty followed more slowly. The Gaffer came out from the garden and made his way down to the cart.  
  
“Sam-lad!” he called. Sam looked up, and made to approach his father, but before he could utter a word the Gaffer said, “Sam, Mr. Frodo and I have decided you’re to stay at Bag End for the next few evenings. He’ll tell me if you’re being a nuisance so you’ll mind your manners.” Sam stared at him, his mouth open.  
  
“Yes sir.” He managed, a bit weakly. The Gaffer patted him on the back, and went around to help unhitch Thor. Sam stared. _Well_ , he thought, _that was a bit easier than I'd have guessed._


	6. Vigilance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said slow burn and I meant slow burn. But expect the romance to pick up a bit from here.

Lotho left the solicitor office, rolling up a parchment and smiled faintly as he walked, stopping to plop down on a bench outside the grocer stand.  
  
“I've got the blasted Brandybuck now,” he said. Hob, sitting on the bench beside him, blinked and turned.  
  
“Are you talking about Frodo Baggins?”  
  
“Yes, who did you think I meant?”  
  
“I dunno. You said Brandybuck,” Hob said evenly. “So, you headed out to the Hill?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You might want to wait a bit. Look what I got today,” Hob said putting his hands in his pocket and drew out a charm. It was made of braided rope and a thick stone with a hole in it. Hob held it out and Lotho took it and wrinkled his nose.  
  
“A witch stone?” he asked dully, “Where did you get that?”  
  
“I went to visit the conjurer,” Hob said. “He doesn't just sell charms either. He had a whole cart of strange stuff and some kind of animal in a cage in the back.” Lotho scowled.  
  
“You're a bloody fool Hob Hatfeild!” he seethed, “You don't mix up with those sorts of people! It's a bad business and you'll pay for it!”  
  
“Oh Lotho you don't have to be as pig headed as everyone else. Listen, Frodo Baggins has a wizard on his side. That's why he always wins, don't you see? I know you think you've got him, but Frodo's a tricky lad, you've said so yourself. Be nice to have a wizard on your side, eh?”  
  
“I'm not pigheaded,” Lotho said sullenly.  
  
“I didn't mean it,” Hob said, “You are a stubborn thing, though.”  
  
“Stubborn is as stubborn does,” Lotho grumbled and cast a more cheerful look at his friend, “Wizards! You’ve been listening to those fools down at the Dragon tell Mad Baggins tales.”  
  
“Oh, come see him. You’ve nothing better do to I’ll wager,” Hob said. Lotho shoved his hands in his pockets and spat. Hob grinned at him, “He’s just outside of town camped with his cart.”  
  
“You really think he can do something against Frodo?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“And you'll not tell anyone that I went to go see a conjurer?”  
  
“You know me better than that.”  
  
“Right, fine,” Lotho muttered, “Let’s see this wizard of yours.” With that the two of them set off down the path leading out past Bywater.  
The cart was strange looking and the Big Person was stranger. Lotho got a chill looking at him. He was big, built more like a dwarf than a man, but he towered over Lotho and Hob when he stood up and grinned down at them.  
  
“Afternoon masters,” he said in a low voice. He had a bristly red beard and a long thin pipe stuck between his teeth, and he wore long stained robes. Everything about this stranger seemed foreign and wrong, but Hob strode forward fearlessly and gave a nod to the stranger.  
  
“And to you, sir,” he said in return, “I would like you to tell my friend here what you told me this morning,” Hob paused, “about curses.” The foreigner’s face froze and he coughed, looking at Lotho carefully.  
  
“Now now, young masters, I am perhaps not used to your ways, but in my land we do not discuss such things so hastily,” he smiled, “Come and sit by my cart and I will serve you coffee. Then we will talk.” Lotho didn’t like this stranger; he was unsettling and too big for comfort, but he was intriguing all the same. If Lotho could have believed anyone capable of working magic it would be someone like this.  
  
They sat with the foreigner for hours. He told stories from his land, a place far to the south, where magic was not such a strange thing. Lotho kept an eye on Hob who seemed enchanted by these tales and kept the stranger talking enthusiastically. Lotho joined in when he was able, aware that he needed to appear friendly if he was to win confidence. At last the tales ended and the conjurer stared into the small fire.  
  
“You came here seeking answers,” the man said, “so, ask your questions.”  
  
“I want to know what kind of services you offer, exactly,” Lotho said, “I'm not ready to commit to anything yet, you see.”  
  
“I understand," the stranger sat back, "it is true, I can work curses."  
  
“But, what does it mean? To curse someone?” Lotho asked.  
  
“Do you want your enemy dead?” the stranger asked slowly. Lotho considered this. On one hand he loathed every fiber of Frodo, everything that the boy stood for was an absence in Lotho’s life. On the other hand Frodo was family, and a fellow hobbit.  
  
“No,” Lotho said. The stranger raised his eyebrows and grinned.  
  
“Are you sure, master Lotho?” he asked. Lotho shook his head.  
  
“I want what he has. His titles, his money, his properties; it all belongs rightfully to me. I want him to see me take it. I want him reduced to nothing. That's where he belongs.”  
  
“I can do that,” the stranger said, “for a price. I will also need information about the one you wish to curse.”  
  
“What sort of information?”  
  
“I need to know what magic he has access to.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I must know what I am up against.”  
  
“I don’t know anything about that,” Lotho scowled.  
  
“Frodo Baggins may not even have any magic. It's mostly rumor,” Hob said. The conjurer turned his gaze on the hobbit.  
  
“Well, you might need to do some investigating.”  
  
“You're a wizard,” Lotho said, “can’t you tell what Magics he has?”  
  
“It doesn’t work like that. I assure you, as a fellow hobbit and a kinsman with access to his home, you are far better placed to make investigations.”  
  
“That’s if I agree to purchase your services. Just what is your price?” Lotho asked, putting iron in his voice. The conjurer leaned back, eyeing Lotho.  
  
“Why don't we discuss that when you are truly ready to make a deal, and when you have more information for me. Then we can talk.” Lotho stiffened.  
  
“Very well.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Frodo stood before his study window and turned to face the assembled group. They were all seated in the largest part of Frodo's study, his furniture moved to form a circle in front of the fire place. Outside the window, clouds drifted slowly across the brilliant afternoon and Sam could make out the occasional note of bird song. It was warm and peaceful in the garden. Inside the study their talk was dark.  
  
"I realize that there is something odd going on," Frodo said slowly, "and while I still don't think we need concern ourselves too much, I realize that it would be foolish not to take a few precautions,” he paused, walking to the mantle as he paced, "The events of yesterday were unsettling. All the more unsettling because they don't seem to have been coincidences. Two attempts on my life in the same day, or at least attempts to do me harm."  
  
"And both events set into motion by a stranger," Merry added.  
  
"Bugsey Turnplow certainly thought it was an Elf that convinced him to put the death cap in your basket," Fatty said.  
  
"If we believe Bugsey Turnplow," Frodo said.  
  
"Even if we don't believe him, Sam saw a creature. And we believe Sam don't we?" Pippin asked.  
  
"We all of us believe Sam," Frodo said quietly.  
  
"So as I see it,” Merry spoke up, “we need to identify the threat, defend Frodo against it, locate its source," he paused, dropping his voice low for effect, "and get rid of it!"  
  
"You sound like some Big Person," Pippin laughed, "have you been reading Men's War Tales or something?"  
  
"It's a fine plan Merry," Frodo said, sending Pippin a stern look, "Though I've no idea how to go about doing any of it."  
  
"Well, we can start with a good defense," Fatty said, glancing around Frodo's study, "Bag End isn't exactly a fortress."  
  
"It's a very fine sturdy hole," Frodo sniffed. Fatty laughed.  
  
"Well, the creature had a hard time with Number Three," Merry said, glancing over at Sam, who had sunken into silence as he tended to do when Frodo and his friends chattered back and forth. "I wonder why that was?"  
  
"Number Three is also a sturdy hole," Frodo said primly.  
  
"Maybe it doesn't have the strength to break down a door," Fatty said, his normally cheerful tone darkening. He send a thoughtful look Sam's way, "you said it looked dead? Maybe it was. Maybe it's body was rotten. Brittle bones and mush for muscles." Sam closed his eyes and shuddered.  
  
"Enough of that," Merry said swatting at Fatty.  
  
"I was only saying-" the gentlehobbit grumbled.  
  
"It's a very good point," Frodo broke in.  
  
"But if it hadn't the strength to break a door, then what could it hope to do to you two?" Pippin asked, glancing between them, "Frodo might have been fairly helpless but Sam's a stout fellow. He could have defended himself against a corpse."  
  
"Maybe it could do something it didn't need strength for," Sam said. The group fell silent.  
  
"I think we can at least lock doors and shutter windows," Frodo said finally. "Bag End can shut up very nicely if it needs to."  
  
"We'll need to do a bit of work if we want to make sure the windows stay shuttered against anyone trying to open them," Sam said.  
  
"Right," Merry nodded, "so, today we'll prepare a defense. We also need to do a bit of investigating. See if Bugsey's claim has any evidence to back it up. See if anyone else has seen anything strange." He turned to Sam. "Sam, you've probably got the best chance of getting folks to talk to you. We're outsiders and gentlehobbits to boot. Folks may not speak as candidly with us." Sam nodded.  
  
"I'll see what I can find out,” he said.  
  
"I've got certain books in my library," Frodo said slowly, "bestiaries and such, that Bilbo collected. A few he even wrote too," he smiled wanly, then met Sam's eyes, "why don't we look through them and see if we can't find out what it was out in the Row?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Good! We've got our marching orders then, lads," Merry said.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Sam Gamgee stared into his mug and frowned. He sat with his father and brother at a small table in the Ivy Bush. He'd helped an hour or two with the defense at Bag End, when his father had come up and asked if he might go into town with them. Hamson would be leaving soon and Sam wanted to spend a little time with him. Besides, he'd been tasked with investigating. Finding out rumors would be as easy as making this trip to the Ivy Bush and keeping an ear out. Finding evidence to prove or disprove Bugsey Turnplow's story might offer a bit more of a challenge.  
  
Sam stiffed the urge to snort. Bugsey Turnplow, see an Elf! It made him mad to even think about it. Anyway, it was probably a lie. Or maybe it had been some foreigner that Bugsey took for an Elf. That was what Fatty thought. Sam shivered and turned his thoughts back to the present. He'd not liked leaving Bag End all the same, but then it was still light and would be for hours yet. And Frodo had his friends with him. He could be spared for this. And anyway, judging from the mood in the pub, his trip would not be in vain; though it was a nice cool afternoon and the mood should have been light, the public house seemed ill at ease.  
  
“I swan da,” Hamson said, casting a look over the crowd, “This isn't the way I remember Hobbiton. What's wrong with everyone?” he asked.  
  
“The bad business I suppose,” the Gaffer said. “Strangers and poisoning. That don’t sit right with folks.” Sam snorted and his brother and father looked at him. He scowled, and cast his eyes out on the crowd.  
  
“Beg your pardon,” Sam murmured, “but this would be the first time that these folk ever took time to worry on Mr. Frodo's behalf.”  
  
“They're not stupid lad,” the Gaffer growled, “They know that if trouble comes to Mr. Frodo then it will be trouble for us all.” Sam doubted that but he didn't say anything to contradict his father.  
  
“Only I say it's been a bad summer all around,” a hobbit said at the bar. Sam glanced up and saw that the hobbit who had spoken was dressed in the uniform of the Shire-Post hobbits.  
  
“Aye, but here we've had it worst,” Will Brockhouse said, “Too many strangers, about. That's trouble I mark you.” The Post hobbit waved his hand.  
  
“Ah, strangers? That's nothing compared to what been happening to the Eastern towns.”  
  
“What's that then?”  
  
“Oh,” the Post-hobbit leaned back, casting a glance around, knowing that he had attracted half the pub's attention, “You see things and hear things, out on the road, things that don't seem too sensible. No, you don't want to hear about those tales. I'm hardly sure I want to speak them.”  
  
“Eh?” Will said, leaning close, “What have you seen out there?” The Post-hobbit leaned forward, eager, despite his claims to the contrary.  
  
“Well, out near Woody End,” the Post-hobbit said, his voice dropping low, “The animals have all gone spooked. Won't give milk, nor eggs.”  
  
“That's bad,” Will agreed amiably and sipped his ale, “But taint unbelievable.”  
  
“Nay,” the Post-hobbit agreed, “but there was talk of dogs, wild dogs stalking the county side.”  
  
“Wild dogs? In the Shire?” an old hobbit from west of town said, leaning close, “Why now that's silly.”  
  
“That's what I said,” the Post-hobbit nodded, “Till I seen one meself one night.”  
  
“How many?” the young lad sitting next to old gaffer Twofoot asked, “A whole pack?”  
  
“Nay, just one.”  
  
“One?” the young lad scoffed and the Post-hobbit frowned.  
  
“One was quite enough, my lad.”  
  
“How do you know it was wild then?” Will asked, “Sheep dogs get pretty big in some parts. Why, my cousin had one was nearly seventy pounds.”  
  
“This one looked nigh a hundred and fifty,” the Post hobbit said, “With glowing eyes.”  
  
“Oh codswallop!” Will Brockhouse laughed.  
  
“That tis true, you've my honest word, though I couldn't believe it meself at the time,” the Post-hobbit said quickly, “But then next day I hear that Penn Goodfoot's youngest had up and vanished, that very night.” The Post-hobbit shook his head, “Now that is a bad business.”  
  
“A babe went missing?” Will asked.  
  
“I heard about that,” Nick Hornblower gasped, “out near Stock?”  
  
“Aye,” the Post-hobbit murmured, “And they never found the lad.”  
  
“Babes out in those parts,” Will said slowly, “Sometimes they wander into the Water. Drown.”  
  
“Could be,” the Post-hobbit agreed, “But mostly they know better,” the pub went very quiet, “and mostly, they find them afterwards.” Sam drank the rest of his ale and put his mug down. He wanted another, very much.  
  
“Well, we're in the heart of Shire-land,” old gaffer Twofoot said, “And anything unusual keeps well away, fortunately,” he paused and scowled, “Except of course for when the Baggins' bring it down on us.” There were general murmurs of agreement and Sam sank lower in his seat and sighed. He cast a look at his father and saw that the Gaffer looked grim.  
  
“Sam-lad,” the Gaffer said quietly, “I think you should get back to Bag End.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said and rose.  
  
“Hamson and me, we'll walk back with you,” he paused, “Lad, see if you can't catch a few hours sleep, so your can help keep watch tonight.”  
  
“Keep watch?” Hamson said incredulously, “Da, really, what do you think is going to happen?”  
  
“I don't know,” the Gaffer said in a low voice, edged with anger and Sam cast a surprised look at his father, “But let me tell you, no Gamgee is going to stand for trouble on the Hill.”  
  
“I think Mr. Frodo and his friends are fair capable,” Hamson said, bewildered. The Gaffer rose and put down coins for their drinks and ambled out of the pub. Hamson glanced at his brother and followed the Gaffer out. Sam frowned and followed them both out into the golden afternoon air. The three walked for a few minutes in silence until Sam couldn't stand it anymore.  
  
“Da, all this talk, do you really think it's more trouble come for Mr. Frodo?” he asked.  
  
“I made a promise lad,” the Gaffer said quietly, “I promised Mr. Bilbo I would look after the young master.” Hamson met Sam's eyes briefly from the Gaffers other side.  
  
“And you always have da,” he said and laughed quietly, “Or Sam has.”  
  
“That's not the only promise I made,” the Gaffer said slowly. Sam watched his father carefully, seeing that he was agitated, and that worried him. The Gaffer was silent for a while, walking, and frowning, but finally he cleared his throat and stared ahead. “I made a promise to Mr. Gandalf too,” he added and Sam's eyes widened. “He made me promise that if trouble from outside the Shire should come for Mr. Frodo that I would let Sam stand beside the young master and face the danger with him.”  
  
“What?” Hamson asked, “And our Sam is to stop something from outside the Shire?” he laughed, “Oh I must have had too much ale. This is ridiculous.” Sam felt dizzy, like he was the one who had had too much ale, and looked at his father helplessly. The Gaffer fixed him with a stern gaze.

“Lad, I'd not have made that promise if I didn't think it was your place anyway. You've always stood by our Baggins' and I thought you would always want to. If Mr. Gandalf thinks you can help, then I thought you'd want to help.”  
  
“Aye Da, you know I will.”  
  
“Good lad,” the Gaffer said, but he looked weary beyond his years.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

All through the afternoon, Merry, Fatty and Pippin had been testing door bolts and finding ways of closing up shutters. He had needed to insist very forcibly before his cousins gave up the notion of hammering nails into his walls to nail up windows.  
  
"There's no need of any of that!" Frodo told them sternly. Merry had only turned and eyed his large eight-paned window in the study and sighed. A comprise had been reached. Frodo was to move into the library, which had no windows and sturdy dwarvish made doors with a heavy iron rod that could be drawn down to secure the doors. It was a curious feature in a gentlehobbit's home. Frodo had once asked Bilbo about it but Bilbo would only say that books were his most prized possessions and the doors were burglar proof. "And I should know," he said with a wink. But as Bilbo was probably the only burglar in the West Farthing, Frodo could only conclude that it was another one of his uncle's bad jokes made in very poor taste.  
  
They'd had a quick dinner, uncharacteristically mirthless, considering the company, and soon after they'd retired to bed or to their watch posts. Frodo had gone to the library and Sam had gone with him. Now, Frodo could hear the muffled conversation of Merry and Pippin out in the hall as he prepared to bed down on one of the lounging sofas that could fold flat. Nearby, Sam sat on a narrow spare pallet bed that had been brought in. He looked exhausted in the dim lamp light.  
  
“Sam, you don't have to station yourself with me,” Frodo told him, “Please take one of the guest rooms. You'll be much more comfortable.” But Sam only bit his lip and shook his head.  
  
“Perhaps it's a bit silly. But it's for my own peace, you see. And Da did send me up here to keep an eye on things.”  
  
“Your father sent you up here so that if I get into a fight with Lotho you can be the one to paste him in the face to save me the shame of attacking a kinsmen,” Frodo snorted. He was trying to jolly Sam out of this strange mood he was in, but by Sam's expression, he wasn't succeeding. Sam only gave him a faint smile and kept his gaze firmly on the floorboards. “Sam,” Frodo said, dropping voice into a low soft tone, “Do you think it will come back?” Sam tensed and shrugged. Frodo sank into silence for a moment. He bent back to his bestiary. He'd brought it in so that the two of them could puzzle over the book and see if they could determine what it had been that stalked them. He stood and went to sit beside Sam on his pallet bed, laying the large book across his lap. Sam moved closer and gaze down at the small text and minutely detailed illuminations.  
  
“It had a strange face, you said?” Frodo asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“And eyes,” Sam shuddered, “burning eyes that caught the moonlight.” Frodo took a deep breath. He'd worked all day at trying to recall the confused and disordered memories of the previous night. All he'd come up with were a few disjointed images of something beyond a window peering at him and a feeling of deep unease.  
  
“And it was our size, wasn't it? Like a hobbit?”  
  
“Yes. I'd say so,” Sam said.  
  
“I wonder,” Frodo said softly, “there was a creature like that in Bilbo's tales,” he saw Sam frown, “Gollum.” Sam's eyes widened. “What if it left it's cave?”  
  
“It did shout an oath to hate Bagginses at Mr. Bilbo when he fled.”  
  
“Another one of Bilbo's feuds that I've inherited,” Frodo said smiling wanly.  
  
“This is a little different than that spat with the Hornblowers.”  
  
“I suppose so,” Frodo frowned, feeling an unsettling cold fear crawl over him. His thoughts went to the little magic ring that Bilbo had recovered from the cave. If it was Gollum out there, stalking the hills of the West Farthing, then it would be that trinket he was after. Frodo had a sudden urge to go and find it, to make sure it was safe. It was Bilbo's and it was important to the old hobbit. Frodo couldn't let him down and lose it. He was about to rise, struggling to come up with some excuse to leave, when Sam took his hand.  
  
“Sam?” Frodo murmured, snapped back into the present. Sam was fixing him with a determined look.  
  
“We won't let nothing happen to you, sir. If I remember, that Gollum thing didn't much like Mr. Bilbo's sword.”  
  
“I suppose not.”  
  
“But,” Sam said after a moment, “if it were that Gollum creature, then who were the three behind me? From what Mr. Bilbo said, the cave creature didn't have no family with it. Nor any friends.” Frodo blinked, coming back to himself.  
  
“Maybe it made friends. It has been some years.”  
  
“And the thing last night stank. It was like smelling death. Did Mr. Bilbo ever say old Gollum stank like that?”  
  
“I'm not sure,” Frodo admitted. Sam shook his head, leaning back.  
  
“What I saw in the lane, and later in the window, it looked like a recent dead hobbit who's face had been exposed to the elements and had rotted away.”  
  
“Perhaps it's not Gollum,” Frodo said, shivering at Sam's words. “This is all getting to be a bit too much for a hobbit to deal with.” He sensed distress from Sam at his words and hastened to add in a low reassuring voice, “but we’ll be alright.”  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“I suppose my telling you not to worry is silly,” Frodo smiled, “After all this dark talk.”  
  
“Nay, sir,” Sam said, “If you say we’ll be alright, then I believe that.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam frowned and his voice sunk into a near whisper, “And you know I'll do all I can to help you.” Frodo turned and stared at Sam in surprise.  
  
“You're going stand with me against the horrors of the Wild then?” he'd tried to make it sound like a joke, but Sam only blinked at him and nodded. Frodo felt a little embarrassed. He'd never doubted Sam's courage, but he'd also never expected the gardener to make such promises.  
  
“It's very kind of you to say,” Frodo said gently, “But honestly, I think there's very little to this. If there is trouble then it's more likely from a bothersome branch of my family than from the darkest Wilds.”  
  
“Either way...” Sam said, “I'll not abide any harm coming to Bag End,” he took a deep breath, “nor to you, sir.” He went on quickly, “I'm not here just cause Da told me to. If there is anything I can do... Well, I'll do it.” Frodo kept still, touched by Sam's words. _Maybe he doesn't understand what kind of danger is out there in the Wild. He just knows that he cares for me,_  he thought, _and that feeling is strong enough that he doesn't bother about the rest. No matter what it is._ Frodo paused a long moment, letting that revelation take hold.  
  
“Thank you, Sam,” he said slowly. It didn't seem like enough, but he didn't know what else to say.  
  
“Just wanted you to know, sir,” Sam voice came close in the near darkness. Frodo let out a breath.  
  
“I've known for a long time, that I could count on my Sam,” he said, and could hear the smile in his own voice. “And I can’t tell you what it means to me.” Silence expanded between them and Frodo could feel himself relaxing. The dim soft light from the coals and Sam’s comforting presence made it easier to speak candidly. “I’ve grown used to facing things on my own. With something like this I hardly know what to do. I’m sorry if I get into a temper with you all. The truth is, having hobbits around me willing to face these troubles at my side... it’s such a comfort, and I love you all for it.” Sam moved closer and took his hand. Frodo felt heat in his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being so frank. He bowed his head. “Do you need anything? More blankets? Pillows?” Frodo asked, sliding back into practical talk. Sam gently withdrew his hand and smiled shaking his head.  
  
“Nay, thank you,” Sam said. Frodo closed his bestiary and rose, going to his makeshift bed.  
  
“Are you ready to sleep?”  
  
“Do blow out the lamp if you are,” Sam said. Frodo turned and peered at him.  
  
“You’re not staying up to keep watch are you?”  
  
“For a bit, yes. My dad thought it might be needful,” Sam paused, adding, “I slept a bit this afternoon, so it’s alright.”  
  
“Don’t be silly, Sam. You must sleep after last night. Merry and Pippin and Fatty are keeping watch. If anything happens you won’t sleep through it. But you must rest.” He fixed Sam in his gaze, “you’re tired, aren’t you?” Sam blinked, then nodded. “Then rest, my dear Sam.” Sam eased and nodded.  
  
“Alright,” he said softly and made preparations for bed. Frodo did the same. Soon enough, they bid one another good night, and Frodo extinguished the lamp. It was only a few minutes later when Frodo began to hear Sam's breathing even out, but Frodo remained restless. He sat in the darkness, curled in his blankets, watching Sam sleep by the light of the soft glowing coals in the fireplace.  
  
_What a lovely hobbit he is,_ Frodo thought. _Loyal, and brave. And, unexpectedly, able to handle himself well in danger._ Frodo sighed.  
  
He had been playing at planning a venture out into the World for years. Someday he'd walk into the shadow of those mountains he saw in his dreams. He'd travel out beyond the white spaces on the map and see where the road swept him off to. But it had been just a fancy. Just something fun to turn over in his mind while he sat by the fire in the evenings.  
  
And then earlier in the year something in his mind had shifted. He began to become more serious about the plan, though he still told himself he wasn't quite ready to go yet. Another year. Maybe two. But even so, he'd drawn up lists, organized his affairs, and begun to plan in earnest. He called it his retirement plan, as a joke.  
  
But even as he delighted in planning, as the seriousness of it began to grow in his mind, he suddenly realized one day that if he went through with his plan, he'd have to say good bye to much that was very dear to his heart. He'd coped with this by telling himself that his retirement plan was not a permanent retirement. He'd come back. He'd find himself a little home in Buckland, just like Merry was always pestering him to do. And he'd enjoy the Shire all the more for missing it.  
  
He hadn't thought there was much from the West Farthing he'd miss. The country roads, yes, the comforts of Bag End and the memories it held, yes, but that was all. He'd thought he was so clever, planning out every detail of his fanciful retirement plan. But somehow he'd carefully kept himself from considering what his leaving would mean for Sam, and how painful it would be for the both of them.  
  
Now as he looked at Sam in the dim light his heart hurt. The gardener was very dear to him. Dearer than he'd realized.  
  
_Perhaps he could come with me?_ Frodo wondered. It was terribly selfish to wish such a thing. Sam was fond of him, and he had some love of adventure tales, he knew, and he might very well agree to go off on an adventure if invited. But he wouldn't understand the kinds of dangers that waited out there. And Sam was a hobbit that belonged in a garden with a cozy hobbit hole nearby and the comforts of family and friends close at hand. He'd be miserable in the cold Wild with only Frodo for company.  
  
Frodo sighed unhappily. No, he couldn't ask Sam along. Not if he truly cared about him.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

As dawn light crept down Bag End's hall, Merry walked quietly to the library and paused at the door. He didn't want to knock and wake Frodo and Sam if they were still abed. So he stooped and peeked into the keyhole. It should be a simple matter to tell if they were up.  
  
Frodo was at any rate, he soon saw. He was about to straighten and knock when he saw Frodo pad over to Sam's bed and pause at the side. Something held Merry still as he watched.  
Frodo reached out and took hold of Sam's blanket- it seemed to have slipped down in the night- and pulled it up, snug to lie over Sam's shoulders. It was touching, and Merry felt himself smiling. So, Sam's doting on Frodo wasn't a one way road. He straightened and knocked once very softly.  
  
"Frodo, Sam, breakfast," he called. The door opened a moment later and Frodo passed through, closing it softly behind him, holding a finger to his lips.  
  
"Sam is still sleeping. Let's don't wake him just yet. He was so exhausted yesterday," he said softly. Together they padded into the kitchen where Merry's breakfast was laid out. He'd got tea, steaming in a pot on the table, and put out a plate of eggs, sausage, mushrooms, toast, and roasted tomato halves, from a jar of preserves that Sam had put up that past summer. Frodo paused in the doorway, his eyes brightening.  
  
“You haven't lost your taste for mushrooms have you?” Merry asked. Frodo shot him a look.  
  
“No I have not. Don't go spreading that rumor,” he said and sat down. Merry sat as well, returning to his own plate and tea cup, staring out the window as Frodo went about serving himself breakfast.  
  
“Where's Pippin and Fatty? Aren't they up?”  
  
“Fatty is. He's gone down to the spring house. He said he wanted crème fraîche to go with the mushrooms. Though I think he just wanted to go flirt with the Widow.”  
  
“Oh lord. That's all we need,” Frodo snorted, “he better not let Hamfast Gamgee catch him at it.”  
  
“Oh? Has Mr. Gamgee got his eye on the widow?”  
  
“You're not going to bait me into gossiping about the Gamgees,” Frodo said, sticking a forkful of sausage into his mouth.  
  
“That seems like a wise move on your part,” Merry laughed. He loved bantering back and forth with Frodo on light inconsequential talk. It was one of the more properly hobbity things that Frodo enjoyed. Light talk to banish the darkness. He would miss this if Frodo left. Merry sighed. There he was, letting the darkness back in. He'd been desperately trying for months to come up with some reason for Frodo to either stay in the Shire or at least agree not to leave on his own. So far he'd come up with very little that he thought would actually convince Frodo. He'd been relieved at the addition of Sam to their team.  
  
Instinctively they'd known they would need Sam's help, though maybe they hadn't got the reason quite right. It was true, Sam was invaluable as a watchful eye placed close to Frodo, but the bond between them might be more important even than that. Bilbo might have slipped off into the night without a goodbye, but he had warned Frodo before hand. Might Frodo warn Sam?  
  
_Maybe. Maybe not,_ Merry thought. This was all very tricky.  
  
“I suppose Sam slept alright?” he asked. Frodo nodded.  
  
“Though it's a wonder on that old pallet bed. I offered him a guest bed, but he wouldn't take it,” Frodo said, sipping his tea. He went on, his voice softening in fondness, “Sam can be very stubborn when he wants to be.”  
  
“I'm beginning to see that,” Merry said. He smiled, “but I don't think you mind it.” Frodo's face lit with a smile.  
  
"No, it's kindness and goodwill behind his stubbornness. If I find myself getting annoyed with him I usually remember that fairly quickly."  
  
"I suppose it's not everyone's gardener would stand between them and fell creatures of the night," Merry mused.  
  
"I suppose not," Frodo said and smiled and added in a wistful tone, "I am so very lucky to have him." Merry blinked at him. He'd never heard Frodo speak with such tenderness in his voice. Not even when he spoke of Bilbo. Come to think of it, he'd never heard Frodo speak that way about Sam either. Had something changed between them? _Oh,_ Merry thought, frozen to his seat, _or could it be more than affection he feels? And all this danger has made him realize it?_  He squinted, looking into the kitchen fire, deciding his next few words carefully.  
  
"Sam adores you," he said quietly, "and you adore him, don't you?"  
  
"Hm?" Frodo said slowly.  
  
“Come now,” Merry chided gently, “He is a fine lad, and you’ve always had eyes for the lads, haven’t you?” Frodo lifted his head to stare at Merry.  
  
“Wherever did you hear such a thing?” he asked lightly. Merry took a deep breath.  
  
“Well,” he said carefully, “you are a bachelor.”  
  
“So are a lot of people,” Frodo said chuckling, “you, for instance.”  
  
“Ah yes,” Merry said, “but I know for a fact that when I am your age I shall be wed.” Frodo turned and blinked at him. Merry shrugged. “Master of Buckland.”  
  
“They'd force you to marry?”  
  
“Force is a strong word,” Merry mused, accepting Frodo's change of subject, “I think I would be happy to. But I shall insist it be for love. I won't let them marry me off for political reasons.” Frodo smiled.  
  
“Good lad,” he said.  
  
“I am happy that Bilbo never tried to force you into a marriage,” Merry said. Frodo laughed.  
  
“I'd have called him a damned hypocrite. And he would have been. No, Bilbo would have never done that to me.”  
  
“He knew you favored lads?” Merry asked quietly. Frodo's mouth opened but he didn't speak. Merry was just as artful at turning conversation as Frodo. He didn't often set his skills against his cousin, but he thought it was probably for a good cause. Frodo closed his mouth and gazed out the window, over the hills.  
  
“I'm not sure if he knew,” he said finally. Merry was quiet a moment.  
  
“So, Sam?” he said quietly. Disquiet entered Frodo's eyes.  
  
“What about Sam?” he asked.  
  
“Do you fancy him?”  
  
“That's a rather personal question.”  
  
“I suppose it is,” Merry agreed and sipped his tea. _Not so direct,_ he scolded himself. He was afraid Frodo would change the subject again. If he did, Merry would have to accept it with good grace, unless he wanted a fight.  
  
“Hobbiton is a quiet corner of the Shire,” Frodo murmured, “people don't look kindly on things like that around here.” Merry blinked, surprised that Frodo had granted him this in.  
  
“Don't lads play about with one another in the country?” Merry asked skeptically. Frodo looked down, uncomfortably. “Lads who adore each other, like you and Sam, don’t ever…”  
  
“No, Merry,” Frodo said.  
  
“Why not?” he asked, “if it's just because its seen as a little outlandish... Well, that's never stopped you.”  
  
“There are limits even for me.”  
  
“I think you’re just being difficult,” Merry said. An image of Sam’s face from the previous days flashed into his mind. The boy’s voice quieting, his expression intense as he spoke of safe guarding Frodo; his eyes softening when he turned his attention to an inebriated Frodo slumped against his shoulder that night in the lane; his quiet thoughtful presence at Frodo’s side the morning of the poisoning. Merry paused, taking a breath, his eyes moving from the kitchen fire back to Frodo. “Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?” Frodo met his eyes and there was something vulnerable in his gaze. _Careful Merry,_ he told himself.  
  
“He looks at me in no such way,” Frodo said, frowning, “You’re seeing innocent love and mistaking it for something else.” Merry sighed. When Frodo took on that determined tone there was no getting past it.  
  
“Then he does love you?” Merry asked trying one more time. Frodo closed his eyes and grimaced.  
  
“Merry… Leave off it,” he said with a note of finality in his voice. Merry stared at him.  
  
“Alright. I'm not in the habit of badgering you. I'm sorry if I came across that way.”  
  
“That's alright,” Frodo said quietly, a smile surfacing, “you're just trying to play match maker?” Merry shrugged. Back to light banter, he noted.  
  
“It's what we do to pass the time in Buckland, you know.” Frodo groaned and sipped his tea.  
  
“Oh I am well aware,” he said. Merry laughed.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Sam hummed as he stepped out into the morning light of the garden. He'd woken not a few minutes before and washed his face and changed out of his night clothes, before stepping out the back door into the garden. He wanted to take a little morning walk around the hole, check the defenses, and look at his plants, before going to find breakfast. He headed down toward the potting shed, walking by the low hedge, and went to open the gate into the narrow path that ran behind Bag End. As he did, he glanced down.  
  
There were tracks in the dust, which wasn't all that usual, but what caught Sam's eye was just how many tracks there were dotting the soft sandy way. And they weren't hobbit's feet. More like an animal. He moved closer, peering. A fox maybe, but too big. And there were so many, like a whole heard of foxes. Or maybe just one, pacing back and forth.  
  
It would have been pacing all night to make tracks like this. Sam's breath caught. The words from the Post-hobbit in the pub came to him- a wolf. Big, with glowing eyes. Stalking the countryside. And now, stalking Bag End?  
  
“Sakes,” Sam breathed. _As if poisonings and walking dead weren't enough! Wolves! Why did it have to be wolves?_ Sam's breath was coming fast now as he studied the tracks, tracing the path of the creature. It had wanted something in Bag End badly enough to spend hours pacing and watching. Sam felt his hands begin to shake.  _There’s things out and abroad in the Shire and they’re drawn here,_ he thought, _and I’ve no way to protect him!_  
  
Sam drew in a quick breath as he made out the sound of a pony on the road. He jumped up, and went around toward the front. He couldn’t think of any reason for a pony to come up the hill at this hour, unless it was some unexpected guest like old Mr. Gandalf, who showed up at whatever hour pleased him. Even though the old Wizard hadn't visited in years, his heart gave a leap. _Please, let it be Mr. Gandalf!_ It would be so good to have a wizard about the place and in whom to confide their troubles. Sam had almost convinced himself it was Gandalf’s deep ‘harumphs’ he was hearing when he rounded the corner and found a very unwelcome site.  
  
Lotho Sackville-Baggins sat on his high tan-coloured pony, looking down over the hedge.


	7. Plots and Plats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know more about 18th and 19th century land records than I ever wanted to know. Using that knowledge to write this is hands down the best use of that knowledge I've ever made.

"Boy," Lotho called. Sam stifled his emotions and slipped into the hardened polite servant he tried to be when Frodo had guests he didn't care for. He approached Lotho, walking into the front garden. "Gardener, call your master out here," Lotho told him absently. Sam nodded. Lotho knew his name of course, but he was the type of gentlehobbit who purposely called servants boy or by their titles so that he wouldn't have to address them as a fellow hobbit.  
  
"Yes sir," Sam said and turned away going to the side kitchen entrance, even though the green door was only steps away. Frodo never begrudged Sam use of the front door, but Lotho would comment if Sam used it in his presence. Such comments were bound to annoy Frodo, and Sam preferred not to give Lotho ammunition.  
  
Sam stepped up and opened the kitchen door, sticking his head in. At the table, Merry and Frodo turned towards him.  
  
"Sam, you're awake," Frodo said, and there was a hint of nerves in his voice. Sam blinked at that and entered the kitchen, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Sorry to bother you, sirs," he said apologetically, "but you've a visitor, Mr. Frodo."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"It's Mr. Lotho, sir," Sam said in a low voice. Frodo groaned.  
  
"Damn. On top of everything else.”  
  
"Want me to make him go away?" Sam asked. He almost hoped Frodo might ask him to. Even though he didn't like getting cursed at, it would be better than watching Frodo's peace of mind crumble away under the assault of a Sackville-Baggins.  
  
"I'll help,” Merry said, his voice resolute. Frodo leaned back, his expression warm.  
  
“Thank you, both of you!” he said, chuckling, "But no, I had better face him. Otherwise I’m afraid he’ll start a rumor that I’ve died. They’ll be up here setting up an auction if I’m not careful.”  
  
“Ugh! What a worm,” Merry huffed, “at least Lobelia waited a year.”  
  
“Mm, yes though I think that was more to do with the Rules,” Frodo laughed rising, “Well. I'd rather avoid being declared dead. It makes for a lot of very tiresome paperwork, or so I was told.” Frodo went toward the hall. Merry got up and followed but Sam lingered in the kitchen. He heard Merry's voice from the hall.  
  
"Frodo, let me help you handle Lotho."  
  
"You really don't want to be in on this," Frodo said gently. Merry snorted.  
  
"No, maybe not. But I'll be there, if I'm a help to you. Even if it's only moral support," he said. Frodo paused, "I've survived Brandy Hall all these years. I think I can face old Lotho Sackville-Baggins." Frodo laughed.  
  
“Alright. But I did warn you.”  
  
Sam heard the sound of the front door open. He sighed and went out into the garden byway of the kitchen side door. He really wished Frodo had let him chase Lotho off. Instead Sam went into the vegetable patch and stooped down, studying his ready to harvest lettuces. He picked a caterpillar off one of the leaves and strained his ears. He could just make out the conversation from the front garden.  
  
"I am glad to see you're well, cousin," Lotho said. "We all took a fright when we heard what happened. You really must be more careful."  
  
"I'm afraid it was very thoughtless of me," Frodo said. Sam noted the pause and narrowed his eyes. _Frodo Baggins, you don't have to invite him in,_ Sam thought. "Do you have time to take tea?" Frodo asked politely.  
  
"How kind of you, cousin Frodo," Lotho said, "Is your lad about? Annabelle will need a brush down."  
  
“I'm afraid Sam is busy this morning.”  
  
“Oh? Well. How unfortunate. I suppose it's alright if I tether her here?” Sam closed his eyes and ground his teeth. That pony was going to gnaw his hedges if Lotho left her there.  
  
“Walk her down to the shed, please,” came Frodo's polite but curt answer, “there are tie ups down there.”  
  
“Are you sure your lad isn't about? I saw him just a moment ago. I'm sure he could be spared long enough to see to Annabelle.” Sam rolled his eyes. _What an ass,_ he thought.  
  
“I told you, Sam is busy. Do as I say, please.”  
  
“Really Frodo! No need to get upset. I only expect the minimum hospitality from you. But I forget sometimes just how eccentric you are.”  
  
"I'm afraid Lotho, you will just have to bear with my eccentricities. We Baggins' are famous for them after all," he said in a deceptively light tone. Sam gave a little shudder and hoped Frodo never had cause to use that tone with him. Lotho didn't seem to notice.  
  
“Eccentric is one thing. Encouraging your servant's laziness is another,” Lotho said.  
  
“I think I can see how this visit will go,” Frodo said in a hard voice, “let's spare ourselves. You can take yourself off my Hill, if you please.”  
  
“I'm afraid I insist on having a meeting,” Lotho said, “I have matters to discuss with you.”  
  
“I have no desire to discuss anything with you. Good morning.”  
  
“Frodo. I insist. I will not leave until we sit down. Frodo! I say!”  
  
“Go away Lotho. Or I'll make you go.” _That's it,_ Sam thought and stood. He needed to insert himself. He probably should have done it before now.  
  
“I think you'll want to hear what I have to say! It concerns Bagshot Row,” Lotho said. Sam stopped, just shy of the bend.  
  
“The row?” There was another silence. Sam took a breath.  
  
“You will regret not hearing me out, I tell you.”  
  
“If you have legitimate business then I will listen,” Frodo said in a hard voice, “But you only get one chance. Next time I ask you to go, you go. Understand?”  
  
“Yes, Frodo.”  
  
“Very well then,” Frodo said. Sam took a breath and stepped around the bend. His eyes went to the pony who was already chewing on the hedge. He glowered at it for a moment, before hiding his expression.  
  
"Good morning, sirs," Sam called, strolling up, as if he had just been on his way to the lane. "Can I do anything for you Mr. Lotho?" Sam asked, slipping easily into hard polite manners.  
  
"Yes lad, if you would see to my pony," Lotho said.  
  
"Right away, sir," Sam said. He sensed frustration from Frodo, but this was better all around. Going to the pony Sam noted her dirty coat and almost cast a disapproving look back at Lotho. But Lotho had turned to Frodo, ignoring Sam now.  
  
"Is the rumor true that our Merry and Pippin are staying with you?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, and Fatty Bolger too," Frodo said.  
  
"Oh dear," Lotho sounded annoyed, "I suppose you've had a lively time then."  
  
"They are very kind to visit," Frodo said. His eyes shifted to Sam. “Thank you, Sam for seeing to the pony."  
  
“Of course, sir,” Sam said and turned away, taking hold of the pony's lead. He walked her down the hill to the pony barn, where Frodo and Daddy Twofoot at Number Two kept their ponies stalled. Sam didn't like leaving Frodo with Lotho, though he doubted Lotho would attack him in his own kitchen. Also, Fatty, Merry and Pippin were in the hole, and he took some comfort in that. Still, he wished he was up at Bag End. Just in case. Sam fought down the urge to bolt back up there and told himself he owed this pony a proper brush down, and some comfort. He patted her soft nose and gave her some oats.  
  
"There you are, lass," he said quietly, "There's a good girl." He brushed her and wiped her down, and gave the pony a tub of water to drink. Then loosened her reigns, not removing them in the hope that Lotho would be leaving soon. Sam looked her over and decided he had done his best as quickly as he could. With that, he shut the stable up and ran back up the hill. As he came into the garden he decided to casually look into the kitchen, but as he passed the window Sam could see that the kitchen was empty. He frowned and went to the side door, slipping into the cool quiet of the hole.  
  
_Where are they?_ Sam couldn’t hear anything and as he moved deeper into the hole a creeping weight began to settle in his stomach as he edged into the hall. A guest bedroom door opened and Pippin stood in the entrance, peering at Sam. He waved him over.  
  
“Mr. Pippin, is Mr. Fr-”  
  
“Quickly, Sam,” Pippin whispered. “Merry and Frodo are having a talk in the library with Lotho. Want to listen in with me?”  
  
“Listen in?” Sam asked.  
  
“Yes, Sam. Listen in.”  
  
“I'm not sure that's-”  
  
“I want to be nearby if Lotho tries anything. Don't you?”  
  
“Well.”  
  
“Come on, Sam.” With that he pulled Sam into the bedroom and went to the back wall, where one of the wooden panels had been removed. Sam almost squawked at seeing the wall disassembled.  
  
“What is this?” he asked.  
  
“Secret passage. Goes from the library and leads past the east rooms and comes out in the second pantry,” Pippin said gleefully, “But never mind that now. Come on and keep quiet.” Sam glanced at Fatty who was standing near the opening. Fatty only raised his eyebrows.  
  
“You too, Fatty,” Pippin called.  
  
“I'm not setting foot in there,” he said primly.  
  
“Lazy ass,” Pippin hissed. Fatty raised his eyebrows.  
  
“Name call all you like Pippin Took. But when you get kicked out to sleep in the shed I'll think you of while I'm cozy in the second best guest room in Bag End.” Sam blinked, unsettled.  
  
“He's exaggerating,” Pippin said, “Frodo won't mind.”  
  
“Ha!” Fatty snorted.  
  
“He never told us not to listen in. Frodo knows that's an invitation,” Pippin said easy, “Anyway. It was Lotho who asked for the doors to be shut. He wasn't happy that Merry insisted on joining them either. I think he wanted to try and bully Frodo.”  
  
“I still don't feel exactly right about this,” Sam murmured, following him in. Pippin lit a small candle and motioned Sam in front of him. Sam was pushed into the low opening and turned right, making his way in darkness though the narrow tunnel.  
  
“I'll take the blame if he's cross. But now how is that for you to be? You're our Chief Investigator!”  
  
“I never agreed to be no Chief Investigator,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“Shh. Once we get to the end of the passage they'll hear us just as well as we hear them,” Pippin cautioned. Sam huffed, but kept silent. He hadn’t known about this passage but he wasn’t surprised. Bungo Baggins and Bilbo after him had loved this sort of thing. Frodo had showed Sam one of the passages leading from the cool cellar to a hidden door, concealed in the grove below the west garden and had told him to use it if ever he needed to get into Bag End and didn’t have his key.  
  
As Sam moved deeper into the passage he could begin to make out the rumble of voices, coming from the library, a few rooms over. He calculated that he must be behind the second guest bedroom wall and coming up on the corner of the library now. In fact if he thought of the library’s far wall he could almost see where the passage must be, behind the big oak shelf next to the fireplace. There must be a hinge somewhere that would open the entrance.  
  
"I'm forcing your hand, Lotho?" came Frodo's soft rumble. Sam turned back to the wall and felt relieved at the calm confidence in Frodo's voice.  
  
"You really should take stock of opinion beyond Overhill and Hobbiton once in a while," Lotho said, "You may be master of Bag End, but you're not the law expert that Bilbo was."  
  
"There isn't any Shire law that will take Bag End from Frodo," Merry's voice came.  
  
“No, Bilbo made sure of that, after all,” Lotho said, “but he wasn't so careful about Bagshot Row.”  
  
"Bagshot Row is part of the Hill," Frodo said, his voice ice cold.  
  
“Do you know that? Or are you assuming from something Bilbo told you years ago?” Lotho asked. There was a pause. "I have recently acquired a copy of the deed and the land plats surveyed for Bungo Baggins when he purchased the land. The old road side area that would become the row was a separate parcel from the top of the hill and the deed for the row does not have all the proper signatures. And as you know, this was all Bracegirdle land before Bungo bought it up, meaning the inheritance would pass through my mother to me."  
  
"What?" Frodo said angrily, then paused and revised his tone, "Lotho that is absurd," he said simply. "Bilbo would have never stood for that and if there were any weakness in the land rights your father would have exposed them already."  
  
"Bilbo didn't know about it and my father was not concerned with trifles like the little row holes," Lotho spat, "I shall have the papers brought before Judge Greyfoot before the week is out. And you know," he lowered his voice and Sam had to lean forward to hear, "even if the judge rules in your favor, he is likely to grant me some concession. I wonder what it shall be? Perhaps I shall have my choice of a hole on the row?" There was a silence and even from inside the wall Sam felt it hit him in the gut. Choice of a hole on the row? What did that mean? Did it mean Lotho could make one of the row families leave their hole?  
  
“What do you want?” Frodo asked quietly.  
  
“Bag End.”  
  
“Get out of here!” Merry cried.  
  
“Merry,” Frodo said in a warning voice. There was a long silence. Then Frodo's voice came again, "I shall be doing my own research into the matter," he paused, "Rest assured Lotho, no matter what I find, you will take nothing from the row."  
  
"Frodo," Lotho said, "It is exactly the disregard that you have for the nature of Shire law that gets you into such trouble. The land disputes you've settles alone have made you some serious enemies. Some of them powerful and willing to take certain actions.”  
  
"Are you threatening him?” Merry asked, his voice low and dangerous.  
  
"I suppose so," Lotho said easily, “and what are you going to do about it, Brandybuck? This isn't Buckland. Your words don't mean anything here.”  
  
“We have laws here,” Frodo said in a deceptively light tone, “Those do matter. And I think there is a law against blackmail.”  
  
“You're not going to call a Shirriff on me.”  
  
“Want to try him?” Merry demanded.  
  
“Frodo believes in keeping disagreements in the family. Besides. He knows it's pointless. The Shirriffs are more and more becoming friends of mine. And they don't care for Hobbiton-Bagginses.”  
  
“Don't talk so big,” Merry said iron in his voice, “you've come here with a very weak hand. One document not quite right? For a small parcel? Even if the worst happens and you get control of one of the row homes or even all of them, you know Frodo would only relocate the families to one of his other holdings. It would upset things, but it's no reason for him to give you Bag End.”  
  
“Frodo,” Lotho said slowly, “Do you even want Bag End?” His question was met with silence. “I've heard a few rumors. You talk with strange folk, cousin. About strange lands. Are you planning something?” He paused, “Even if you're not, you may find that keeping Bag End becomes more trouble than it's worth.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Merry demanded.  
  
“There are many families close at hand that don't take kindly to Frodo, and didn't take kindly to Bilbo either. They're tired of crackpot ways. They don't want a master likely to wander off into an adventure; they want a new master, even if it means disposing of the old one. I’m offering you a way around all the hassle and loss of face that such an inevitability will cause you.”  
  
“You want a guarantee that you are my sole heir, don't you?” Frodo asked quietly, “that's what this is about.”  
  
“I thought I made that plain.”  
  
“No you came in here demanding Bag End on a platter!” Merry spat.  
  
“I'm under no obligation to make my will public,” Frodo said stiffly, “and I've no intention to.”  
  
“Then I'll pursue my property dispute. I'm warning you cousin. Your enemies are growing and they'll sway the folk around here.”  
  
“You've made that clear.”  
  
“More and more hobbits are coming round to my way of seeing things. You're standing alone Frodo.”  
  
“He's not alone,” Merry replied, his voice low.  
  
“A few rich friends from far flung corners of the Shire, some rustic folk who live on your doorstep and a cracked little gardener. Those are your allies. Do you really want to find out who my allies are?”  
  
“Enough!” Merry growled.  
  
“I have tried to be polite to you and your mother but this is a step too far," came Frodo's voice, icy and calm.  
  
"Too far? But I am trying to find an amiable way for us to settle the matter.”  
  
"Like hell you are!" Frodo snapped, his voice raised at last, and Sam silently cheered, "I have nothing more to say to you, Lotho. Get out of my hole." There was a silence, then Lotho's footsteps receding.  
  
"Yours for now, dear cousin." There was a long silence then and the faint sound of a door closing.  
  
Pippin breathed out a huff of air in disgust. Sam sent him a look. Pippin paused a moment, then pushed past Sam in the narrow space and felt along the wall in front of him. He slipped open some catch that was invisible to Sam's eyes and the wall opened. Sam blinked. They had indeed been behind the set of book shelves on the left most wall. Frodo glanced over at them and snorted.  
  
“Hiding in my walls,” he scolded, but his voice held no anger, only weariness. He met Sam's eyes and gave him a faint smile, “Hullo Sam. I suppose you both heard all that?” Pippin stepped over the base of the shelf and into the library, Sam following close behind.  
  
“Yes,” Pippin sighed as he turned back to carefully move the shelf back into place.  
  
“I didn't mean harm,” Sam murmured. Frodo waved dismissively.  
  
“It wasn't a secret conversation. It was just Lotho making an ass of himself, as he always does. Only this time I made an ass of myself as well.”  
  
“No you didn't,” Merry said quietly as he returned to the library. He must have walked Lotho out.  
  
“I'm sorry Frodo. But we did want to be on call should a brawl break out,” Pippin said.  
  
“Don't be ridiculous,” Frodo sighed. Fatty poked his head in the door.  
  
“Is he gone?”  
  
“Yes, thank goodness,” Frodo said. Fatty disappeared from view then after a moment reentered the library holding a large tray. He set it down on the table in front of Frodo and Merry. He had fragrant tea and several cups, plus platters of cheese, bread, sausage, bacon and tomatoes and scrambled eggs. At the end were small pots of honey, cream, and blackberry jam, along with a stack of plates and forks and knives on top.  
  
“Oh, a proper second breakfast,” Merry sighed and reached for a plate. They all helped themselves to the spread, eating mostly in silence. Sam even took a small plate for himself and sipped tea, settling on a stool by the hearth.  
  
"You know," Merry said as he munched, "I didn't like what Lotho said about turning hobbits around here against you. He might have a time provoking them to take action, but I don't doubt he could turn some opinions against you, especially of those hobbits that don't know you that well."  
  
"How many families around here would take up for you, Frodo?" Pippin asked. Frodo shifted uncomfortably and smiled a little perplexedly.  
  
"I suppose I can count the Gamgees in my column?" he asked, sending Sam a look.  
  
"You would suppose right, sir," Sam said a little stiffly. Frodo favored him with a smile.  
  
“Er, any others?” Pippin asked.  
  
"Oh I don't know,” Frodo continued, “several more, I'm sure. Everyone in Hobbiton is fairly kind to me, even if they do like their gossip." Sam could have offered evidence to the contrary, but chose not to. He knew as well as Frodo did that there were plenty in Hobbiton that didn't care for the strange Master of the Hill. No more of Lotho's threats were spoken on, and conversation shift away from the cloud hanging over them. Sam gazed into his tea and wished not for the last time, that things could be easier for Frodo.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

After second breakfast, Sam, in the garden once more, watched Merry, Pippin and Fatty set off for town. Merry had stepped over to the garden and told him not to worry, they wouldn't be gone long. Just off to do a little shopping and gossip collecting.  
  
“Taking the temperature in town as it were,” he said. Sam blinked.  
  
“Right Mr. Merry. Good morning then,” he'd said. An hour or so had passed since then and Sam had worked through some of his garden chores. He had a feeling that he might not have much time for the garden in the next few days and he wanted to get some things done.  
  
The back door opened and Frodo stepped out, cup in hand as he strolled past the pump and into the flower garden. Sam watched him for a few moments, but then went back to his chores. Frodo didn't look like he was going to wander very far. He might have even come outside for a little company. Sure enough, Frodo slowly worked his way over to Sam and took a seat on the stone wall near the vegetables, where Sam was working. They nodded to one another, but no other greeting was needed when it was just the two of them. Sam felt the weariness of the morning lessen a little. He always liked it when Frodo took time out of his day to sit with him. Somehow it made the time slip by easier.  
  
“What are you doing? Fertilizing?” Frodo asked after a while. Sam nodded.  
  
“It’s a good time for it with fall coming on. Good for the grasses that is, I won’t be doing the trees till later. I want them to harden up before winter sets in,” Sam said.  
  
“What else do you have to do?” Frodo asked. Sam liked it when Frodo asked him about things in the garden. He wasn't clever enough to have those complicated conversations that Frodo enjoyed with his friends, but Sam Gamgee could speak with confidence about the garden. As long as he decided that he wasn't boring Frodo with details he didn't care about, he could talk for sometime about plants and rain and like matters that filled his head and his heart. And Frodo was an appreciative audience. He asked good questions and devoted his attention to Sam while he was speaking. Not all gentlehobbits would do that.  
  
“There’s pruning for one, and a few things to plant, like lettuce and peas, and the harvesting of the other vegetables, but I’ve mostly done that.”  
  
“I thought September would be a slow month in the garden,” Frodo mused.  
  
“It can be. We aren’t growing most of the late season vegetables this year,” Sam said.  
  
“Hm,” Frodo said. Peaceful silence stretched again. “The others went into town.”  
  
“I saw them.”  
  
“I feel guilty, but in some ways it's a bit of a relief,” Frodo said quietly. Sam paused and looked up. “With just the pair of here I could almost pretend everything is back to the way it always has been.”  
  
“But it isn't.”  
  
“No,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked quietly. Frodo gazed at him over his cup and nodded.  
  
“Just a little tired out,” he said, “I'm not used to such excitement.”  
  
“Well I don't know many hobbits that are used to the things you've had to go through the past two days,” Sam said with a smile in his voice. Frodo's expression eased and he laughed.  
  
“Thank you, Sam. I knew coming out here to talk to you would make me feel better.” Sam ducked his head, shy, but warmed by the thought that he could cheer Frodo. Their talk slipped into lighter topics, the weather, the new post hobbit, and the like. Finally Frodo rose and said, “Well, I'm afraid I have work to do. Good morning, Sam.”  
  
“Good morning, sir,” Sam said.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Visiting Frodo was a wonderful escape, Merry reflected, but it meant that his father would be hounding him with letters, sending him assignments to complete while he was away. Today he was supposed to be interviewing shopkeepers in Hobbiton about the price fluctuations of grain but he could already feel his mind wandering away to dwell on Frodo's problems. He caught up to Pippin and Fatty. He wanted a word with them before they entered town.  
  
“Have either of you talked with Frodo about his love interests?” Merry asked. Pippin and Fatty turned to stare at him.  
  
“No! Even I know better than to do that,” Pippin said. Fatty gave Merry a hard look.  
  
“You Brandybucks. You think everything is your business,” he said.  
  
“I don't see anything wrong in asking him about that sort of thing,” Merry said.  
  
“Leave Frodo alone, Merry,” Fatty told him, “The poor hobbit has half the Shire trying to marry him off. He doesn't need his friends meddling in his personal affairs.”  
  
“I'm not trying to marry him off!” Merry protested.  
  
“Listen to me, Merry-lad, and I will give you some advice,” Fatty said, “Frodo is a wonderful fellow, but he can bite if you meddle in his life overmuch. I'll risk it if it's Frodo's life in danger, but otherwise it's best to leave him be.” Merry sent a sidelong glance at Fatty.  
  
“That sounds like the voice of experience,” he said. Fatty laughed heartily.  
  
“I'm afraid so,” he said.  
  
“Why were you bothering him about his love-affairs?” Pippin asked, “is he trying for someone you're interested in?” Merry cleared his throat.  
  
“Ah. No,” he said.  
  
“I know what it is. Merry is looking for a reason to keep Frodo in the Shire,” Fatty laughed. Merry blinked and sent an amazed look at Fatty. “Oh! I'm right!” Fatty said.  
  
“Really, Merry?” Pippin asked, sighing, “you're trying to push him into a love affair? Just so he'll stay?”  
  
“You two,” Merry complained, “that's not it. I thought I saw Frodo take an interest in someone and I am trying to encourage it.”  
  
“You saw him take an interest in someone?” Fatty said slowly, frowning, “you mean, this past year?”  
  
“During this visit.”  
  
“But no one has visited except Lotho.”  
  
“It's not Lotho,” Merry said. Pippin and Fatty groaned.  
  
“Of course it's not Lotho.”  
  
“Merry don't keep back something like this,” Pippin said forcefully, “I'll accept you keeping your great important conspiracy secrets, but if Frodo likes someone and we could help pair him up, then you have to tell!”  
  
“I don't have to,” Merry said, sending them a look, “and as you say, Frodo can bite.”  
  
“Then what did you ask for?” Fatty complained.  
  
“I just wanted to know if he'd said anything to either of you,” Merry said.  
  
“Merry,” Pippin said tartly, “don't treat us like subjects of your investigation. We're partners in all this.”  
  
“Yes, we are,” Merry said warmly, “but you understand, it's Frodo's business and if he wants to tell then he will. I won't do it for him. That wouldn't be right.”  
  
“Alright!” Pippin laughed, “keep your secrets. And keep Frodo's secrets. But you tell us if we can help.”  
  
“I will, Merry said.  
  
As they entered town, the three went their separate ways. Merry walked down Hobbiton's main road, gazing at the little shops carved from a particularly pretty slope. Each store front was built out from the hill, faced with sturdy brick or timber, either left bare or brightly painted. Rows of little flower pots lined the lane and attached to the overhang above adding brightness to the cheerful little street. Merry closed his eyes as he passed Heather Puddlefoot's food stall and breathed the fumes of roasted pheasant.  
  
The heart of the Shire was very lovely, and Merry could well see why Frodo had fallen in love with it. Buckland and the lands around it could be chillier- buildings made from thick stone, with iron gates and hobbits on their guard. It had always been a harder place, since they were so close to the boarder, and that hardness had only grown in recent years as the whispers of trouble came to them. Yet Buckland had it's charm, and it's people were some of the best in the Shire, if you could get past the gruffness. Merry loved Buckland, but he had to admit, he relished the gentleness of Hobbiton. Or at least he had, until this visit. Merry opened his eyes and went quickly down the road to the grocer. He slipped inside and studied the displays, lost in thought.  
  
"Tis been seen on the moors and now closer in. It's happening just like the eastern towns," a low voice said off to Merry's right. He turned and saw the grocer talking with Bingo Greyfoot, one of the merchants he was supposed to be interviewing.  
  
"Where do you say exactly was it seen?" the grocer asked, "my sheep went skiddish last night you see."  
  
"Very close to town according to the Grubb boy," Bingo said, "Perhaps the beast is to blame for your sheep."  
  
"What beast?" Merry asked. The two hobbits looked over at him in surprise and the grocer tipped his hat.  
  
"Mr. Brandybuck, didn't see you there. Good morning sir," he said. Merry thought he looked nervous.  
  
"Was it a fox?" Merry asked, "We have trouble with them in Buckland also."  
  
"Not a fox, if the lads around town are to be believed," Bingo said slowly, "They seem to think it was something bigger." Merry frowned. Bigger than a fox? The grocer nodded.  
  
"The lads say they've seen a wolf."

<>O<>O<>O<>      

Pippin ducked into the alehouse and felt the welcome coolness of the room. The large hole was slightly crowded and the proprietor looked busy, but even so, one of them noticed him immediately and broke off in conversation to hale him.  
  
“Good morning Master Took,” said a round faced slightly familiar hobbit, “What can I get for you?” Pippin grinned and began to rattle off types of ales and beers he wanted to try, laying on his charm. Technically he wasn’t old enough to purchase ale on his own, but the proprietors usually overlooked this.  
  
He had come for beer, but another chief concern was to pick up gossip. He sat with the other customers at the bar and sipped his samples thoughtfully. He wondered how discrete he should be, if he should wait and see if someone else brought it up any of the disturbances, or if he should just ask around.  
  
“What is this rumor about strangers I’ve heard tale of? Is it not safe to go walking at night in Hobbiton?” he asked. The other customers turned to him, with less than friendly looks. _Oh dear. I may have miscalculated,_ Pippin thought.  
  
“T’is safe to walk in our town, Master Took,” said Lionel Figtree, “Don’t fear on that. The stranger business is some hogwash.” _Definitely miscalculated,_ Pippin thought, wincing. He was an outsider after all and these hobbits were still suspicious of him, even after all the years of visiting Hobbiton, and they wouldn’t take kindly to a Tuckborough hobbit making disparages about the safety of their village.  
  
“It seems to be a little more than hogwash,” Pippin said carefully, “It sounds like there really might be something to it.”  
  
“That’s right,” Broadhouse senior piped up, “It might be alright in town, but I wouldn’t go walking out yonder beyond the gates for nothing.”  
  
“You saw a stranger?”  
  
“Nay. But I seen a wild dog for sure out there. Three hobbits have seen it now.”  
  
“A dog?”  
  
“Aye, all drunk too,” put in another older hobbit, frowning over his ale.  
  
“Not all, my Billy saw it running across the hills last night, a big black dog with the smell of death on it,” said Mistress Grubb, “It had killed something.”  
  
“It’s not just a wild dog,” Finnaldo Button said suddenly, “I saw it myself, last night.”  
  
“You did?” Pippin asked eyes wide. Finnaldo closed his eyes.  
  
“I was almost to town, coming back from the fair in Scary, and I saw a big black shape in the road, so big I thought it was some pony that had got loose,” he paused a took a swig of ale, “But it was a dog all right, with big teeth and flames in its eyes. I swear it was some dark magic, can’t be no creature like that around here naturally. I run off and it didn’t chase me, but I 'bout died of fear, running from that thing. It could have killed and et me if it had half a mind.” The room was silent. Finnaldo looked up at Pippin, his eyes narrow, “If it was some wild dog it would have done just that, but as it didn’t I say it's magic. And if it’s magic there’s only one reason it would be in the Shire.”  
  
“What’s that?” Pippin asked unwisely.  
  
“Baggins,” Finnaldo said loudly, “Anything queer happens around here, it’s on account of Baggins. Aye, the older and the younger. It’s some curse they’ve pulled down on themselves. I swear it’s here because of Baggins magic, either it is some creature he commands, or it’s here to kill him for his meddling in affairs too big for him.” Pippin laughed in disbelief.  
  
“Surely not,” he said.  
  
“Finn, drink your ale and let’s have no more of that,” the proprietor called, “There’s more moonshine in your talk than in your cup.” The room roared in laughter at that and Finnaldo dunked his head and sipped, looking put out. Pippin sipped his samples uneasily, even as the room regained its easy cheer.

<>O<>O<>O<>      

The three met at the Ivy Bush's common room for a quick elevensees before heading back toward Overhill. Pippin was already seated at their customary table when Fatty and Merry entered.  
  
“Fruitful trip lads?” Fatty asked, his voice straining to be cheerful. Merry shot him a look.  
  
“Maybe more fruitful than I bargained for,” he said darkly. Fatty grimaced and nodded, slipping into his seat beside Pippin.  
  
“I supposed you both heard rumors of a wild dog?” Pippin asked.  
  
“Yes,” Merry said in a small voice.  
  
“It's all anyone is talking about,” Fatty sighed, “this is too much.”  
  
“Oh, now it's too much?” Pippin snorted.  
  
“Don't be like that,” Fatty scolded. Pippin sobered and sent Fatty and apologetic look.  
  
“No, Fatty's right,” Merry murmured, “fantastic creatures and strange accidents all focused on Frodo is one thing. But Wolves... Well. It seems a bit more threatening to the common hobbit. The Fell Winter wasn't that long ago. Our grandfathers watched white wolves come across the Brandywine.”  
  
“And if the common hobbit feels threatened,” Fatty said slowly, then stopped his train of thought, shaking himself. “Well, as I said. I don't like it.”  
  
“Some of the hobbits in the pub blamed Frodo for the wolf sightings,” Pippin said quietly. Merry closed his eyes and Fatty cursed.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

As they drew near the Hill, Merry broke off from Pippin and Fatty and went around the little trail to the garden. He found Sam crouched down in the lettuces, a harvest basket at his side. Merry leaned over the fence.  
  
"Sam?" Sam jerked and looked up, letting out a cry of surprise. Merry grinned. "Sorry," he said. Sam put his hand over his chest and laughed breathlessly.  
  
"Mr. Merry, you did startle me. What can I do for you?"  
  
"We're just back from Hobbiton," Merry said, frowning, "And we heard something a bit disturbing. Wanted to see what you thought on it." Sam straightened up.  
  
"Aye?" he asked. From the sound of his voice Merry could tell that Sam thought it a bit odd for Merry to ask his opinion on something important.  
  
"Listen," Merry lowered his voice, "we're working together to keep Frodo safe, and in that we are equal partners. It means that I value what you think. Understand?" Sam stared at him, then closed his mouth and nodded.  
  
"What did you hear then?" Sam asked. Merry climbed over the fence and knelt in the grass with Sam.  
  
"I heard the grocer and Bingo Greyfoot talking about hobbits having seen a wolf around Hobbiton last night. Fatty and Pippin heard much the same tale." The color fled from Sam's cheeks.  
  
“Mr. Merry,” he said, his voice unhappy, “I found something this morning that I never had the chance to tell you all about, not with Mr. Lotho and all,” Sam took a breath, “I went out into the lane behind Bag End and there were animal tracks in the road. Large dog, they looked like. And it was pacing, back and forth, for hours must have been.” They stared at one another.  
  
“Did Frodo call for that Bounder yet?” Merry asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“He sent a request by Quick Post yesterday.”  
  
“I don't know what to do, Sam,” he said and heard the fear in his own voice, “I'm not a warrior.”  
  
“Well, me either Mr. Merry. All we can do is have courage and stand with him. I don't mean to let that wolf nor any creature near Mr. Frodo. Not while I've breath in my body.”  
  
“Sam,” Merry said, stunned. Sam gazed back. There was a fierceness in his expression that Merry wouldn't have thought Sam capable of possessing. The spell passed and Sam dropped his gaze, shyness overcoming him, but Merry wasn't fooled. There was stone behind Sam's gentleness, he realized. “Bilbo became a burglar, and a great many other things,” Merry said after a pause, “perhaps we'll become warriors, you and I.” Sam laughed. “Pippin is planning on scouring Bag End for weapons, I think. We may all be warriors before this is over.” Sam's smile faded.  
  
“I hope it doesn't come to that, Mr. Merry.”

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Frodo sagged in his chair, putting his elbows on the desk and sighed. He'd been working himself hard all morning and into the afternoon, searching for the all important deed documenting the sale of the row parcel from Rodovald Bracegirdle to Bungo Baggins, but he hadn't found it. Tidy record keeping hadn't been a strength of Bungo's. Bilbo had done much better, but his systems of record keeping was not the method Frodo would have chosen.  
  
He had been going through the more modern records, hoping that the deed he needed might have been recorded later or perhaps filed with other papers created during the sale. But so far he'd not found it. So, Frodo went about carefully documenting each chain of title for each row lot and associated garden lot in the holdings, indexing his own copies of the records by the year of transaction, the volume number where it was recorded at the court, and page number. He'd have to do it anyway, if Lotho really did pursue this dispute.  
  
He hadn’t thought it would be terribly complex -there were only four row lots and he could easily get to the most recent copies of the deeds and grants of freehold that Bilbo had drawn up - but the older records were troublesome. By early afternoon he'd gone down a rabbit hole, looking at all the surveys showing boundary changes as they related to the row over the past century and a half. It was exactly the kind of work that drained his energy and made his head spin. He felt like someone had kicked him in the face.  
  
Worse, because at the back of it was a low hum of panic. Frodo knew clerks made mistakes. If Bilbo or he hadn't caught such a mistake, then there very well could be something wrong with a recorded copy of a deed or a plat, just as Lotho said. That was why it was so important for him to be able to find all of his own loose copies of the records. He groaned and rubbed between his eyes, trying to work away some of the strain.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
Frodo straightened and turned, blinking blearily at Sam, who stood in the doorway to his study. He held a tray with a pot of tea and a cup, along with a small plate of cheese and bread.  
  
“Hello Sam,” he said wearily, “is it tea already?” Sam entered the study and Frodo cleared a place on his desk for the tray.  
  
“Yes sir. I thought you might need a little something,” Sam said, placing the tray down gently on the desk.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“How is it going?” Sam asked quietly. Frodo rubbed his eyes and poured himself a cup.  
  
“Oh. Fine,” he said, “it's tedious, that's all.”  
  
“Didn't Mr. Bilbo have all his important papers organized?” Sam asked. Frodo laughed.  
  
“By his own damnable system that only he understood,” he said with some venom. He sank back, drinking his tea, the steam rising around his face. He added, “oh, I don't mean that. Bilbo taught me his system. But he admitted that he changed the way he organized things every few years and it created problems finding things.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Sam murmured sympathetically.  
  
“Oh dear is right,” Frodo sighed, feeling the weight of the job settle back onto him. The deeds were mixed in with so many other papers- warrants for survey, head tax payment slips, certifications, mortgages, rents, and parcel maps, all more than likely filed by year rather than by lot. This was a job of several days probably. And he might not have that kind of time. Not the way Lotho was talking.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You look a little tired.”  
  
“I suppose I do,” Frodo sighed. Overwhelmed and exhausted was probably nearer the mark.  
  
“Would you like me to rub your neck?” Sam asked quietly. Frodo glanced up at him. Sam stared back, his expression a little uncertain, “if it's not too familiar, that is.” Frodo blinked, not sure what to say. Sam smiled slightly, adding, “It's just, sometimes my sisters will ask me to, when they're feeling unwell. They say it eases them.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo said, dropping his gaze to the desk, “I don't want to trouble you.”  
  
“It's not any trouble,” Sam said. Frodo paused.  
  
“You don't mind it?” he said slowly.  
  
“I don't mind.”  
  
“Then, please. I think that might help.” Sam nodded and moved behind him. Frodo sat back, some of the tightness in his body already releasing, just from the thought that Sam would do this for him. Sam's hands settled at the base of his neck, his thumbs pressing in, as his fingers kneaded along the sides. Frodo let out a breath and tilted his head back, relaxing. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. Sam's hands were strong and Frodo could already tell he was very good at this. His breathing slowed as a light tingle began to spread where Sam's hands worked. He was so tired and this felt so nice.  
  
Long minutes must have passed but Frodo barely felt them, more occupied with the rhythm of Sam’s hands. After a time, Sam gently eased the pressure of his hands away and Frodo opened his eyes. He was about to thank Sam when a warmth settled between his shoulder blades. Sam was resting his hand, palm flat, against his back. Frodo took in a breath and held it. They paused like that for a long moment, then Sam drew his hand away. Frodo let out the breath he’d been holding. Neither of them moved.  
  
“I won't let anything happen to the hobbits on the row,” Frodo said softly. There was a short pause.  
  
“I know you won't,” Sam replied.


	8. The Gardener, the Witch and the Beer Hater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien says that there is little government in the Shire, aside from the mayor, and the only services are the post service and the shirriffs/bounders. But there's also a lot about probating of wills and property holdings, so I'm taking the liberty of making up a local court system - as you do - to handle those things and an archives where permanent records are kept. I think it’s also funny that Tolkien says there’s little government but apparently Bilbo getting himself declared alive took a long time and a lot of paperwork. Little government but a lot of bureaucracy is just about the most fucking hobbity thing ever.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Expect the action to pick up again from here.

Sam clutched the little bag of post, holding the strap against his shoulder as he set off. He was running into Hobbiton to deliver Frodo's urgent letters to the Quick Post. Frodo had written to the West Fathering Court asking for copies of records he needed. He'd told Sam it was imperative that he have what Lotho had, as soon as possible. He also had written a letter to his solicitor, and a letter to the Mayor. Sam hurried down the road.  
  
As he walked, he saw ahead on the path a small group of hobbits he recognized. Tom, Nibs and Jolly Cotton were walking to town, talking loudly and happily. Sam smiled and hurried to catch up with them. Tom turned and spotted Sam first and let out a whistle in greeting. Sam waved and walked to them, falling in step beside the brothers.  
  
"Hullo," he said,  
  
“We've got apples. Fancy one?" Jolly asked and drew one from a pouch at his side. Sam accepted one of the pretty red apples and bit into it as they walked.  
  
"Are you coming with us all the way to town?" Tom asked, "We could have an ale at the Bush if you've a mind."  
  
"Going to town, yes. But I'll need to get back. Have to stay close to Bag End," Sam said, "There's been some things happening here."  
  
"Aye," Tom said, "Now Samwise what is this I hear about strangers on the row?" he scowled, "Mari wouldn't stop going on about it. Said they chased you- had you running back into Number Three in the dead of night."  
  
"Aye, there were strangers on the row," Sam said, "There's been disturbances on the Hill and row for a few days now, and it only seems to be getting worse." The brother frowned at him and Nibs snorted.  
  
"What do you mean Sam?" he asked, "You talking about the mushrooms again?"  
  
"Mr. Frodo was alright wasn't he?" Tom asked.  
  
"Aye he was fine!" Nibs answered before Sam could, "you heard the Healer." Sam wasn't about to get back into that argument. Nibs seemed to have taken the mushroom incident personally.  
  
"It t'aint right for there to be so much going on around Bag End," Sam said, "And it wasn't just a stranger that followed me. It was more like a creature. Something foreign anyway."  
  
"What kind of creature?" Jolly asked. Sam shook his head.  
  
"Something that looked like a dead hobbit." He glanced up and saw the Cotton brothers staring at him, their mouths agape.  
  
"Sammy's gone cracked," Nibs whooped.  
  
"Oh come on Sam," Jolly said throwing his arm around Sam's shoulders, "This is the Shire. We don't have creatures here."  
  
"Maybe not in days past," Sam said suddenly irritated, "but I seen it and so did my dad, and so did Mr. Frodo."  
  
"Alright!" Jolly snorted, "you don't have to get out of sorts at us, Sam."  
  
"It was dead? So, a ghost?"  
  
"T'was solid enough. It knocked on the door at Number Three."  
  
"I don't like this talk of dead things walking about," Nibs shuddered.  
  
"None of us like it," Tom scowled.  
  
"And now there's been rumors of some dog stalking around Overhill and Hobbiton at night. And I've seen odd tracks," Sam said in dark tones.  
  
“Lor' Mr. Frodo draws all manner of wickedness,” Jolly said in astonishment. Sam turned on him and Jolly stepped back in alarm. “I didn't mean anything by it Sam!”  
  
“A little tetchy, aren't you, Sam?” Tom asked, frowning at him, “you look like you haven't had a good night's rest since the mushrooms.” Sam huffed.  
  
“That's about right,” he bowed his head, “and on top of it all, that Sackville-Baggins come by this morning."  
  
"Sam thinks Mr. Lotho poisoned Mr. Frodo," Nibs laughed. Jolly scowled at his brother.  
  
"I'd not put it past the little piss ant," he muttered.  
  
"Hoy! That's a Sackville-Baggins you're speaking on," Tom said sternly.  
  
"He's a prick Tom!" Jolly said fiercely, "Bastard complained to Da about the eggs I sold him last week, made him lower his price. Like he can't afford to pay full price for eggs!" he crossed his arms, "You'd never catch Mr. Frodo doing that sort of thing.”  
  
“Anything we can do to help, Sam?” Tom asked. Sam considered this. The Cottons were strong farmer lads, but they'd never tested themselves against creatures of the night.  
  
“Hey,” Nibs said, “Tom, what can we do? We're not Bounders now. If there's creatures then I don't want to be out at night around the Hill.”  
  
“We've tangled with some dangerous things, we have,” Tom protested.  
  
"Oh you're just offering all this because you're sweet on Marigold!" Jolly complained, "Want Samwise and the Gaffer thinking on you good."  
  
“I don't want no body outside on the Hill at night,” Sam said quickly. The three farmers turned to him. “It's not safe. And you're right. We need a Bounder." He paused, "But there’s one thing you can do. I’m supposed to be talking to folks and collecting up the rumors. So if someone else sees a creature we might know a bit more about it and what it might want. I also want to know if folk start getting turned against Mr. Frodo. There’s already been a little talk but Mr. Lotho threatened to have the hobbits around here stirred up to cause trouble for Mr. Frodo.” He sighed, “folk might not be willing to talk on that with me. They know where I stand.” Tom nodded.  
  
“We’ll tell you if we hear anything then.”  
  
As they came into town, Sam parted from the Cottons and headed down the lane to the little Postmaster's office. He nodded to a few hobbits, who returned his greetings. One or two though, avoided his eyes. Sam frowned and stepped up onto the stone step of the Postmaster's office and pushed the door open. He stepped inside and froze. Standing at the counter, with his back to Sam, was Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Sam stifled a groan and stepped into line behind one or two other hobbits waiting their turn. Lotho was carrying on a conversation with the Postmaster.  
  
“I'll drink it to humor certain hobbits, but really, beer is a nasty drink,” Lotho said was saying, sniffing. Sam closed his eyes in disgust. He hadn't thought it was possible to hate Lotho Sackville-Baggins more than he already did. “We'd all be better off if the Green Dragon closed. If I had my way I'd see every tavern this side of the Water shuttered.” Sam felt the heat of anger building. What right did Lotho have to go around telling hobbits how they ought to be?   
  
“You may be right master,” the old post hobbit said agreeably.  
  
“Well, enough. I'd best stop holding up the line,” Lotho said.  
  
“Good afternoon Mr. Lotho.”  
  
“Good afternoon,” Lotho said and stepped to the side, going down the counter to study the little bound books of stamps and post route maps. Sam wished he would leave. The minutes slid by as the post hobbit helped the folks in front of Sam, but Lotho didn't leave. He seemed to be intent on studying a route map of what looked like the South Farthing. Sam turned his attention to the post hobbit as his turn came. Maybe Lotho wouldn't notice him, or if he did, maybe he would ignore Sam. He usually did, unless not ignoring Sam would somehow irritate Frodo.  
  
Sam finished mailing the post, praying that the postmaster would have sense enough not to comment on the letters or on Mr. Frodo's business. Thankfully the post hobbit said very little, only taking the letters and Sam's coins. Sam thanked him quietly and was about to make his escape.  
  
“Gamgee,” Lotho called. Sam stood stock still for a moment, then turned. Lotho was peering at him.  
  
“Yes, sir?” Sam said stiffly. The Sackville-Baggins' eyes narrowed a little, as if he were trying to recall something.  
  
“You live on that little row that runs down from my cousin's home, isn't that right?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said. Lotho paused.  
  
“What number do you live at?” he asked. Sam felt a cold chill climb up from the pit of his stomach. He gaped a moment and Lotho frowned. “Lad,” he said impatiently, “I say, what number do you live at?”  
  
“Number Three,” Sam said quietly. Lotho nodded and turned away without another word. Sam stood there, frozen, for a moment, then he made himself walk out of the Postmaster's office. On the street he let out a breath and tried to stop his hands from shaking. To his shame he had to blink and swipe at his eyes, trying not to cry out in the middle of the lane.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
Sam turned. It was Tom Cotton calling to him down near the entrance to the town. He went down the lane and found all the Cotton brothers sitting under a tree.  
  
“I need to go and get back,” Sam said, afraid his distress would betray him in front of his friends. Tom nodded.  
  
“This won't take long. Jut wanted to give you a few words. We were at the grocer stand and heard a bit of talk. Thought you needed to know.”  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“It's true what you said, people are saying dark things about Bag End,” Tom said quietly. Sam stared.  
  
“That's not the whole of it,” Jolly said, “Gerald Hornblower is saying the wolf is a creature of Mr. Frodo's. That he tells it to go out and hunt his enemies. His brother Nick said he thought it was the creature Mr. Frodo sold his soul to. And that's why he looks so fine and young all this time.”  
  
“What?” Sam was staggered. The Hornblowers were well known to despise Frodo, but there had never been talk like this.  
  
“I heard one who spoke on you Sam,” Nibs said warily, “said it was the herbs you grow for Mr. Frodo in that garden that he uses in his spells. They said Mr. Frodo goes up on the top of his hill under a full moon and says those queer elf words over the herbs and the like.”  
  
“That's such nonsense,” Sam breathed. The Cotton sent one another looks.  
  
“Well yes, of course it is,” Tom said, “but you know folks. Half of them will believe it.” Sam took a breath, heat in his cheeks.  
  
“I need to get back,” he said.  
  
“See you later,” Jolly murmured.  
  
“We'll keep an eye on things,” Tom told him, “and let you know if talk gets worse.”  
  
“It's already worse,” Sam murmured. Tom pressed his lips together and nodded. They bid one another farewell and Sam walked out into the road, making this way back toward the Hill. When he was out of sight of the town gates, Sam stopped and went to sit under a tree, facing away from the road, hiding himself from view in the bracken. Finally, he let himself cry.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Sam sighed and rubbed his hands thoughtfully. He and Frodo were sitting in the kitchen waiting for the chickens they were roasting to finish cooking, and Frodo has put on a pot for tea. Merry, Fatty and Pippin were off, supposed to be stacking firewood, though Sam had found that unless they were supervised very little wood ended up stacked in the shed. He didn't mind really, because despite the gardener's instructions he had never known a gentlehobbit yet that could stack firewood properly, and less they stacked the less Sam would have to restack.  
  
He turned his thoughts back towards supper and his master, who was wiping his hands absently, staring at the oven. He'd wanted to tell Frodo what Lotho had asked him in town. But he'd realized that was exactly what Lotho wanted. He didn't know Sam had listened in on their conversation that morning, didn't know that Sam knew of his plans to go after the property rights on the row. Lotho was hoping Sam would go to Frodo and tell him what he'd asked, and that it would rattle Frodo further. So Sam kept quiet on that matter. He had thought it prudent though to tell Frodo what was being said in town, even though that made him squirm as well. He didn't want to bring pain to Frodo. But when he'd told his tale, he was surprised by laughter.  
  
“They’re calling me a what?” Frodo asked, looking amused.  
  
“A witch, sir,” Sam said. His mood wasn’t improved by Frodo’s laughs. “Sir,” he said, an edge of impatience in his voice. Frodo sobered a bit at his tone, but a laugh still threatened at the corners of his lips.  
  
“Oh, but Sam, isn’t it funny at all?” he asked, “and the bit where you're growing herbs for my spells? Oh, I must tell Gandalf if he ever comes again. I think he'll find it very funny.”  
  
“It's not funny the way I heard it sir,” Sam said. Frodo snorted and began to laugh again, much to Sam’s chagrin. “There’s always been folks as said there was something unnatural at Bag End, and Mr. Lotho’s gone and talked it up,” Sam said and then mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant to let that out. Frodo fixed a wide eyed look on him.  
  
“Really?” he asked, his laughter gone. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his head. “What do they mean, Sam? Just that Bilbo went on adventures and had strange house guests?”  
  
“Well, yes, that’s quite a bit of it,” Sam said. “You know how some of the gammers are, when they get going.”  
  
“And, the rest?” Frodo asked. Sam sighed.  
  
“You sure you want to hear this?” he asked. Frodo only raised his eyebrows. Sam winced, “Well, alright sir, but you did ask,” he scratched his head, “They say it’s not natural for you and Mr. Bilbo to have had such wealth and to look so young, and they say that there will have to be a price paid for it.” Sam had not expected this to throw Frodo back into fits of laughter, but there he was, chucking again, hand clapped over his mouth.  
  
“Oh Sam, I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny. I'm worn out and it's making me a little giddy,” he gasped between laughs, “But, there are seriously hobbits down in town that think I’ve given my soul to dark powers, or something to that effect?”  
  
“Something like that, sir,” Sam said miserably. “And now they think you’ve conjured up this dog spirit, or a wolf, to do your bidding,” he sighed, expecting Frodo to laugh again and thought he best get it all out, “Though old Hornblower thought the dog was the wraith you sold your soul to, and now it has come to collect it.” But Frodo didn’t laugh at that, in fact he looked a little uneasy.  
  
“A wolf is it?” he asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“Finn Button has been telling anyone who will listen about how he was out last night saw it off the road from Scary coming towards town. Finn took off running over the fields but he said it didn’t follow. Said it was a big black dog with glowing eyes,” Sam explained.  
  
“I wish you’d left that bit out,” Frodo said shuddering.  
  
“Sir?” Sam asked, a little uneasy at Frodo’s sudden discomfort.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m not fond of dogs at the best of times and big dogs with glowing eyes on lonely roads at night…” Frodo winced, “especially when they’re supposed to be coming for my soul.”  
  
“Oh well. You, won't like this next bit,” Sam said unhappily, “I found dog tracks out behind Bag End this morning. Big ones. Going back and forth. Pacing like.” Frodo groaned.  
  
“Why didn't you say something earlier?”  
  
“You were busy,” Sam said, feeling chastised. Frodo gazed at him and nodded.  
  
“I suppose I was,” he murmured and turned to watch the chicken. Sam sighed. He should have said something. But Frodo had been in his study all day, fighting a battle, for him and his family and all the families on the row. It touched Sam deeply. He’d wanted to do something, anything, to help. He hadn't wanted to pile more on. “Merry and the others know about the wolf?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said. Frodo nodded.  
  
“Good. Merry will think of something,” Frodo said warmly.  
  
“Mr. Merry does always seem to,” Sam agreed. Even before all of this, Sam had heard stories of Merry's exploits from Frodo. Frodo would come out into the garden his face lit with excitement or laughter and he'd read Merry's letters to Sam. They detailed incredible stories of dodging aunts and uncles, roaming the wilds of Buckland alone or with Pippin, and one memorable tale of Merry braving a flood to pull a calf from a stream. Merry Brandybuck was very capable and could think his way out of any situation, as far as Sam could tell. That was why it had been so astonishing to sit crouched in the dirt with him, while the gentlehobbit turned to Sam for advice. And then, he'd looked into Sam's face and admitted that he didn't know what to do. That had shook Sam more than he wanted to admit.  
  
“I am sorry to hear that hobbits in town are upset over all this,” Frodo mused, “maybe I should go into town tomorrow and say something?” He glanced at Sam, “Or do you think that would only make things worse?” Sam felt flustered.  
  
“I don't know,” he said in a small voice. Frodo considered this, his expression growing sad. He nodded and they sank into silence. Sam sighed, feeling his own emotions boiling up unexpectedly. Memories of Frodo walking through the snow to visit the widow and bring her baskets of food to stave off the cold and scarcity of winter, and of Frodo showing up unexpectedly one late evening at Number Three with a basket of ribbon for Sam's sisters, saying only that he had got them mixed in with some book binding materials and had no use for them and wouldn't the girls like them for their hair? Sam caught his breath. "You've always cared for us so. If the town hobbits don't see that then they're fools," he said quietly. "And just so you know sir, the hobbits on the row will stand up for you." He could hear a fierceness enter his voice and Frodo's eyes widened as he blinked looking dazed.  
  
"Thank you," he said wistfully, "It is nice I suppose to know that I'm well thought of, at least on the row." _Well loved_ , Sam thought and he clenched his fists to keep himself from saying it aloud. It would only embarrass Frodo to hear that, and anyway, it wasn't Sam's place to say such things.  
  
“It's Mr. Lotho telling folks things, that's the problem,” Sam said, “he's nothing but a scoundrel. I only hope his nastiness catches up with him one day. He's never been a decent hobbit, to you or anyone else. That he'd stoop this low don't surprise me none," Sam said hotly, then blushed. It might be Lotho he was speaking on, but the gentlehobbit was still Frodo's family. Frodo laughed quietly.  
  
“Oh, Sam,” he murmured. Sam sniffed and stared at the floor, his anger still boiling.  
  
“If he died tomorrow the Shire would be a better place.”  
  
“Sam!” Frodo scolded. Sam only bowed his head and refused to take it back. Frodo sighed.  
  
"That may all of it be true, but try not to hate him. He hasn't had an easy life, not with Lobelia for a mother."  
  
"It isn't an excuse sir," Sam said stubbornly, "And anyway, by all accounts he's fond of her, and she of him. What a pair." Frodo frowned.  
  
"It's not a matter of her being hard to him, but rather the things she expects from him. She wants him to run the Shire I think." Sam laughed.  
  
"Mr. Lotho, as Mayor or some such? Well, he'd never be that."  
  
"If he keeps buying up land he might be," Frodo said quietly. Sam turned to him.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Oh, rumors, Sam. I shouldn't spread them about," he said looking a little repentant.  
  
"Do you suppose that's what all this Bag End business is about?" Sam asked uneasily, "So he could have some sort of claim of power over the hobbits of the West Farthing?" Frodo shrugged.  
  
"It would give him prestige, to be the Master of the Hill, but," Frodo frowned, "I wonder.”  
  
“If he were master,” Sam said slowly, “then he could do what he likes with the row, couldn't he?” Frodo's eyes shifted to him.  
  
“Bilbo made grants to each family for rights to their own row lot,” Frodo said slowly, “but ownership of the land is in my name. If my estate passed to Lotho, I'm not sure if he could take back the grants.”  
  
“Mr. Bilbo didn't ask for no money for those grants.”  
  
“No, they were set up under the old Rules. Grants of land held in trust and in return for service.”  
  
“Service?”  
  
“Ah,” Frodo chuckled, “hobbits have always interpreted that to mean, service in cultivation. But in the old days, your family would have pledged to also fight at Bilbo's call. I think even in the old days it was only a formality among hobbits. Language borrowed from the men and the high king at Fornost.” He shook his head, “Sorry. I'm rambling. I'm too tired to think straight, I'm afraid.” He sighed and went to the stove. "It's times like this I wish Bilbo were still here," he said quietly. He stood and took the water off the burner and poured it slowly into the pot with the leaves to steep.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo would be proud of all you've done,” Sam said quietly. Frodo turned to glance at him. He smiled wanly.  
  
“I hope so.”

<>O<>O<>O<>       

Frodo sat in his study, waiting for the chicken to finish baking, chewing his pen absently. Bilbo had broken him of that habit long ago, but it still came back when he was troubled. He sighed.  
  
Poor Sam had got himself worked up talking about Lotho. Frodo wasn't sure he'd ever heard Sam speak with such hard words about anyone. But then, Lotho was threatening his family, his neighbors, and his master as well. Frodo leaned back and let his eyes trace the beams in the ceiling overhead.  
  
It had been nearly five years since Lotho’s father had died. Frodo heard about it from Daddy Twofoot, a gossip collector if Frodo ever knew one, and he had debated going in person to offer his condolences, as custom decreed. However he decided that the last person the Sackville-Baggins wanted to see right then was Frodo Baggins, so he wrote a note and had it delivered. Lobelia could read, a skill that she almost never missed pointing out when she came to tea. After taking the note to the post Frodo had thought little more about it, except to wonder if Lobelia would make her trips to Bag End more often now that she didn’t have Otho to take care of. This last thought, he recalled guiltily, had weighed the most on his mind.  
  
That evening he had been in the garden smoking and looking at the stars, when up the row came a racket. Frodo stood and peered over his wall, frowning at the disturbance. Lotho was stumbling up the hill, drunk and shouting for his blood. Frodo put his pipe out and went to the gate, letting himself out into the road to meet Lotho. He had tried to talk to him but Lotho took a swing at him and Frodo sidestepped, catching him a blow in the stomach. Lotho had dropped like a stone and Frodo had tried to reason with him once more. Lotho was, however beyond reason and had tried to fight him once more, but Frodo laid him down again. A lad didn’t grow up at Brandy Hall without learning to fight a bit.  
  
Eventually Lotho lay still, and Frodo had stood over him, watching his cousin cry with his face pressed into the dirt. It hadn’t been nice at all, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to make it any better. Finally, he had turned and gone back inside. It had made Frodo feel like the cold arrogant ass that everyone thought he was, and as much as that hurt, a part of him delighted in seeing Lotho so thoroughly defeated. What kind of person delighted in the pain and misery of his cousin, and on the very day that his father had died? At least that thought had made him sick.

<>O<>O<>O<>      

When they sat down to dinner Frodo was relieved to see that his friends spirits were higher than they had been the day before. Lotho's visit seemed to have inspired their confidence to return. It made some sense. Lotho was a foe they had a chance against, after all. The mysterious creatures and nebulous darkness was much more daunting and Frodo had hated to see his friends so down about all of it.  
  
When they finished, Frodo ushered them into the parlor and served small glasses of his best brandy. Seated around the fire with a good drink, listening to his friends tell stories and jokes did much to ease his mind. Finally, as talk died down Frodo stood.  
  
“I have made a determination,” he said and watched as his friends easy manner evaporated. They were watching him closely now. “My own records may hold the answers I need, as far as the row goes, but even if I find the right set of deeds, I wonder if it would be better to have a recorded copy. Lotho may try and accuse me of forgery.”  
  
“He’d lose,” Fatty said with some vehemence. Frodo nodded.  
  
“Probably. But it would drag the proceeding out. I want to avoid that.”  
  
“But Lotho says it’s the recorded copy that isn’t in order,” Merry murmured.  
  
“There are two copies of record. One held in the Farthing court, one held by the Farthing archives. I doubt very much Lotho or even his solicitor has been to the archives.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
“Brumby the archivist is a very disagreeable hobbit. He does everything in his power to discourage visitors. I will have to make a trip to visit him.”  
  
“He can't send a certified copy?”  
  
“Oh no. Brumby insists on researchers visiting in person. He doesn't have the staff for such things. And it may take some digging to find the deed.”  
  
"But is that safe?" Pippin asked, “you going to Michel Delving?”  
  
"If we all go, and don't stay out past dark," Merry said, but he didn't sound certain.  
  
"I don't like the idea of leaving Bag End unguarded," Frodo said quietly.  
  
"You have some reason to think someone might break into Bag End?"  
  
"I don't know what to think," Frodo said, "but there are things here that I don't want stolen away." He frowned, sinking into silence. Merry watched him closely.  
  
"Right. So then maybe two of us stay here and guard Bag End. And two go to Michel Delving with Frodo."  
  
"I want to go to Michel Delving!" Pippin said quickly. Merry nodded.  
  
"Right, and Sam will go. So that's settled."  
  
"W-wait, but I..." Fatty closed his mouth at a look from Merry. Frodo blinked and glanced at Sam.  
  
"Is that alright with you, Sam?"  
  
"Yes, sir,” Sam said.  
  
“Then it's decided. We'll leave early tomorrow,” Frodo said, returning to his seat. “Now, let's try not to think anymore of that dreary business. I think I'd like a song. Who wants to sing?” Pippin and Sam volunteered and before long the parlor was full of their voices, singing some ridiculous song about shepherds standing on their heads.  
  
Later, when the night had deepened and they were getting ready for bed, Frodo caught Merry alone in the hall.  
  
"Merry," Frodo said in an undertone, "what are you about?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Insisting Sam accompany me to Michel Delving."  
  
"You don't want Sam along?"  
  
"I never said that," Frodo frowned, "but why the insistence?" Merry smiled, then winked. Without a word he walked off down the hall, whistling. "Merry!" Frodo called. Merry only chuckled.  
  
"Good night, Frodo."

<>O<>O<>O<>     

Pippin and Sam sat in the darkened lonely hallway of Bag End, their backs to the library door. It was their turn to keep watch, and they spoke to one another in hushed voices, trying not to be a nuisance to Frodo and Fatty, who slept in the library.   
  
“Have you been to the Drunken Duck?” Pippin asked.  
  
“No.”  
  
“The Sweet Spirit?”  
  
“No, can't say I have.”  
  
“The Rowdy Dwarf?”  
  
“Mr. Pippin, is that real?” Sam asked skeptically. Pippin laughed.  
  
“I can't wait! You and I should go on a drinking tour in Michel Delving. It will be amazing.”  
  
“We're going so as we can guard Mr. Frodo,” Sam reminded him. Pippin frowned.  
  
“Yes, we can go early, while Frodo is at that ghastly library.”  
  
“Ah. And what if he gets attacked at that ghastly library?” Sam asked, chuckling, “I mean to be with him while he's there.”  
  
“Oh fine, Sam,” Pippin sighed, “but we should go drinking sometime.”  
  
“I do like trying different beer,” Sam mused. He turned and cast a surprised look at Pippin. “You want to go drinking with a gardener, do you?”  
  
“Why not?” Pippin said smiling. “You're very good at singing. And drinking from what I've seen.” Sam laughed.  
  
“And what have you seen, Mr. Pippin?”  
  
“You're often at the Dragon when I visit. Always got friends round you. And a healthy appreciation for Proudfoot brew.”  
  
“Any decent hobbit would. It's good stuff,” Sam said. He glanced at Pippin. He'd never spoken so familiarly to the young Thain. It was nice. _Mr. Pippin's a proper one,_ Sam thought, _he knows how to put a hobbit at ease._ “You know,” Sam said, “when I went into town this afternoon, you know who I saw at the Postmaster's office? That Mr. Lotho,” he said and was gratified to see Pippin wrinkle his nose. “He was talking to the posthobbit. Know what he said? Said beer was a nasty drink.”  
  
“Well, fuck him,” Pippin said. Sam slapped a hand over his own mouth and tried not to belt out a laugh.  
  
“Lor', Mr. Pippin,” Sam managed.  
  
“I know his type,” Pippin said, disgusted, “smarmy ass who thinks he's better than everyone else.”  
  
“He does at that,” Sam agreed.  
  
“Frodo is too patient with him,” Pippin sighed, “he values family so much that I think he's willing to let Lotho get away with more than he ought.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo said he'd not let Mr. Lotho do anything to the row.”  
  
“No. Frodo is determined about that,” Pippin said quietly, “I've never seen him more determined.”  
  
“He tore his library apart today looking for that deed,” Sam said, dropping his voice, “all for us on the row.”  
  
“Of course he did,” Pippin said fondly. “And you watch, he'll find it in Michel Delving, I've no doubt. He found a book once in the Great Smials library that had been missing for two hundred years. He's amazing at finding things.”  
  
“I'm sure he is,” Sam murmured.  
  
“So, we'll do our part and keep him looked after,” Pippin said resolutely, “won't we, Sam?” Sam glanced at the young hobbit and smiled.  
  
“That we will, Mr. Pippin.”

<>O<>O<>O<>       

Frodo lay on his make-shift bed, watching the fire. His thoughts warded off the sleep that he knew he needed, but he couldn't help it. Fatty was already asleep, had in fact drifted off in a matter of minutes. Frodo eyed him, jealous. He sighed and turned back to the fire, unable to stop thinking about Merry winking at him in the hallway. He scowled.  
  
Just where had he gotten the idea that he fancied Sam, anyway? Had he done something to make Merry think that? Frodo didn't think so. But then, he had allowed himself to be more vulnerable around Sam these last two days. As was only natural with all these unsettling things happening. Sam was someone he could trust. Maybe that was all Merry was seeing - that trust between them. The problem was that Merry was very canny and Frodo had long ago learned to respect that canniness.  
  
_Is he seeing something that I haven't seen myself?_ Frodo wondered. When he'd been a bit younger he'd cast a few admiring looks Sam's way, but nothing more than that. He'd grown out of tweenish crushes a long time ago. Sam was a solid comforting presence in his life and he'd never dream of endangering what was between them by making a pass at the young hobbit.  
  
He doubted Sam even knew anything about what could go on between two lads. The people of Hobbiton were committed to being predictable, and predictable meant getting married to a lass and fathering children. Anything else, remaining a bachelor included, was deeply frowned on and rarely spoken of.  
  
But then, Sam had a few unexpected dreams, some of them markedly outside the bounds of what hobbits would consider respectable.  
  
Years ago, just before Bilbo went away, Frodo had walked back from the pub and met Sam on the path. They were both of them just a bit more than tipsy and neither felt like ending the night just yet, so they'd gone up the hill and sat in the garden, sharing one last mug of beer. Their talk had turned personal and honest, and Sam had told him things that Frodo doubted the young hobbit had ever spoken of to anyone else- secret hopes of sailing on ships and seeing stars over the water, of standing at the peak of a mountain and looking down into valleys below, and of meeting elves and all the strange wonderful people who went on adventures and hearing their tales and songs, songs that could fill his heart in ways that no pub ballad ever could. They weren't the kind of predictable dreams that young hobbit ought to have, and Sam knew that. So he'd locked those hopes away, only whispering them to Frodo in the darkness and peace of the garden. Frodo had treasured that trust and kept those secrets faithfully all these years.  
  
As the night wore on, Frodo began to speak of his own hopes and dreams. He had come very close to telling Sam about his preferences. But in those days he'd still been very conflicted about it and not at all sure of himself. He hadn't even been sure what it was he was feeling. That was why he hadn't talked on it with Bilbo. He could have told Sam, even of the vague notions of what he was feeling, for he trusted Sam. But he'd also had a sense that what he was feeling wasn't something good, and there had been a shard of fear in his heart that Sam, even Sam, would turn away from him for speaking on such things. In the years since, he'd sometimes regretted not telling Sam. He knew now that Sam would probably not have been hard on him about it. In all likelihood Sam would have been just as bewildered as Frodo; but he wouldn't have hated him over it.  
  
He absolutely regretted not telling Bilbo. There was no doubt in his mind that Bilbo would have been able to offer him support and advice. While the old hobbit wouldn't have understood those things first hand, he was wise about the world and knew and liked all sorts of outlandish peoples. Talking to Bilbo about it, Frodo thought, would have saved himself a lot of worry and perplexion over the years.  
  
And what would telling Sam have saved him? Frodo didn't know. Probably it would have saved him from feeling so alone. _I could still tell him,_ Frodo thought. But no, he'd waited too long. He wasn't a frightened tween anymore, and he didn't need to guard himself against feeling lost and alone. He had his place in life and wonderful friends. Telling Sam wouldn't serve any purpose.  
  
But maybe, he could still tell Bilbo. He wasn't without need of support, and he didn't feel wise enough to be above advice. Especially Bilbo's advice. Frodo sighed, his thoughts circling back to the afternoon of Bilbo's farewell party. He'd found his uncle in a quiet moment and told him once more, “I'll come with you, you know. Just say the word.” Bilbo had paused and looked up from his bag.  
  
“No, my lad. All the arrangements have been made,” the old hobbit murmured.  
  
“Bother the arrangements. If you ask me along then I'll go,” Frodo said and he could hear the tension in his voice.  
  
“I can't do that,” his uncle said slowly. Frodo felt a knot in his throat.  
  
“Why not?” he asked, his voice falling away. Bilbo turned and fixed him with a look and Frodo dropped his gaze, feeling miserable. He heard his uncle move closer, and a hand clasped his shoulder.  
  
“You're still in love with the Shire aren’t you?” he asked, “This is home for you.”  
  
“I still think-”  
  
“Frodo,” Bilbo interrupted. Frodo fell silent. They stood together a moment, then Bilbo put his arms around him and Frodo leaned into the embrace. “You are going to have a wonderful life here.” Bilbo paused, his arms tightened, “My darling boy. I will miss you terribly.” Frodo had bowed his head, trying to keep Bilbo from seeing his tears. Bilbo rubbed his back. “Try not to be too sad. I think we’ll meet again. Somewhere out there in the strange lands. I’ll be waiting on the road for you.”  
  
_And he is out there still,_  Frodo thought. _Somewhere. If only I could see him again._  He pulled the blankets up around his shoulders and closed his eyes. He needed to rest and stop thinking. After a time he drifted off, but his dreams were full of mountains.


	9. Taking a Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story and this chapter in particular meant I needed to make a timeline. I probably should have done it before now, but anyways, maybe this will be helpful to other people: 
> 
> 1246: Bungo born  
> 1252: Belladonna born  
> 1290: Bilbo born  
> 1326: Bungo dies  
> 1334: Belladonna dies  
> 1341: Bilbo has his adventure  
> 1364: Lotho is born  
> 1368: Frodo is born  
> 1380: Sam is born (family tree date); death of Frodo's parents  
> 1382: Merry is born  
> 1383: Sam is born (Appendix B date)  
> After 1383: Bell Gamgee dies?  
> 1389: Bilbo adopts Frodo (Frodo is 21; Sam is 9)  
> 1390: Pippin is born  
> 1401: Bilbo leaves the Shire; Frodo comes of age.  
> 1412: Otho dies  
> September 1417: story set  
> Frodo: 49  
> Sam: 37  
> Merry: 35  
> Pippin: 27  
> April 1418: Gandalf visits Frodo and tells him about the Ring
> 
> It’s all backed up in either fellowship or rotk or in the hobbit. There’s two years listed for Sam’s birth, but I think I’m going with 1380. It narrows the age gap between Frodo and Sam and it means Sam is a little older than Merry, which seems right. Plus Marigold is listed as being born in 1383, and they’re not twins? And Bell dying is a guess. I got the impression she wasn't around by the time Fellowship starts, but then Tolkien wasn’t always the best at remembering that female characters exist. 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Thank you so much to woeful. It's so nice of you to comment and it really helps me know when I've landed a point I was going for. I’m too deep into the writing to see story flow and character interactions from a fresh perspective, so again, it’s super helpful. I'm so happy that you're enjoying the story.

The early dawn light filtered in through the windows as Sam rose from the guestbed where he'd spent the night. Merry had relieved him early in the morning so that he could get a few hours of sleep. Pippin had stoutly stayed up and finished out his watch shift.  
  
“Don't worry over it Sam,” Pippin had told him, “I plan to sleep in the cart. You'll be driving, so go and take some rest.”  
  
Now Sam stretched, feeling more refreshed than he had any right to, with only about five hours of sleep. The guest beds of Bag End were wonderful. Sam rose and went down to the kitchen. He nodded to Merry and Pippin who blinked groggily at him.  
  
“I'll make breakfast, shall I?” Sam asked.  
  
“Please, Sam,” Merry groaned.  
  
“Maybe some tea too,” Sam said with a smile. He went about making up a quick breakfast of eggs and toast and tomatoes, and took tea in two steaming mugs down to Merry and Pippin. They were standing now, and the library door was open.  
  
“Mr. Frodo up?” Sam asked, glancing inside. Merry took one of the mugs and sipped, looking relieved.  
  
“Mm. In his study,” he sighed. Sam nodded and went back to the kitchen to make up another tray. A few minutes later, Sam entered the study and let his eyes roam over the masses of paper and thick leather bound volumes, stacked on every surface.  
  
“Sir?” he asked. Frodo's head popped up from behind a volume.  
  
“Good morning, Sam,” he said.  
  
“I brought tea,” he said and set the little tray down in one of Frodo's desk chairs. Frodo blinked at him.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“What are you doing, if you don't mind my asking?”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo sighed, “I'm tidying up my notes. I've got most of my citations here, but I'm double checking a few things. It won't do to get to the archives and have to spend time locating a document when I might have had the book and page number written down here.”  
  
“You've sure got a lot of papers,” Sam said, staring at the stacks. Frodo winced.  
  
“I know. I've drug everything out of it's proper place and made an absolute mess. I am going to be very upset with myself when I try and get it all back into order.” He paused, “Will you stay and have a cup of tea with me?”  
  
“Alright, sir,” Sam said, “I'll just go get another cup.” Frodo rose.  
  
“No, I'll get it. I'm headed to the kitchen anyway. I need to wash my hands. Go on and pour yourself a cup. I'll be right back.”  
  
“Oh. Thank you,” Sam said as Frodo stepped around him.  
  
Sam let his gaze pass over a loose stack of papers and his eyes caught on several familiar names. He paused, stepping closer and bent, taking the paper in hand. He really shouldn't be reading these things. They were Frodo's private important papers. He puzzled over the writing for a moment, glancing down at the signatures at the bottom. At least he could make out a few of those.  
  
“What have you there?” Frodo asked, peering over his shoulder. “Did you find a deed?”  
  
“Sorry sir!” Sam gasped, replacing the paper. Frodo chuckled, setting a cup down on the tray.  
  
“Don't apologize. You're welcome to read these if it interests you.”  
  
“'It's your private business and I had no right,” Sam said, feeling his cheeks go hot. Frodo stepped around him and took hold of the document.  
  
“You know my business, Sam. I don't mind it,” he said, scanning the document. A soft smile lit his face. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, holding the paper out. Sam shook his head.  
  
“T'was a might hard to make sense of the handwriting.”  
  
“It's my guardianship record,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“Guardianship of what?”  
  
“Bilbo's guardianship of me. It was recorded when I came to live with him here.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam breathed. Frodo took a breath and began to read out the legal document,

> Town Hole, Michel Delving, West Farthing  
>  Whereas application in the proper form has been made to have Bilbo Baggins resident of said Farthing appointed Guardian of Frodo Baggins orphan minor of Drogo Baggins deceased, and the said Bilbo Baggins has duly delivered the Bond secured according to the Farthing Court of Ordinary for the Guardianship of the property of Frodo Baggins and taken the required oath. This is to show that said Bilbo Baggins is entitled to all powers and privileges of general Guardian of Frodo Baggins that said Bilbo Baggins as such Guardian is to safely keep the estate of said Minor to collect and deliver the same to him when he becomes of Age that he is to render a just and true account of all the estate which he may receive that he the said Bilbo Baggins is to inquire into and receive all the estate of said Ward which by the Rules he ought to do, that he said Bilbo Baggins is to maintain and educate said orphan and protect his person and in all respects discharge all the duties of a Guardian by making proper returns and whatever else the Rules require of Guardians.  
>  In witness whereof, Adelard Took, Ordinary of said Farthing and official clerk have hereto set my hand and seal of office this September twenty second, Shire Reckoning Year 1389  
>  Witness  
>  Saradoc Brandybuck  
>  Esmeralda Took Brandybuck  
>  Paladin Took, Thain  
>  Rorimac Brandybuck  
>  Amoranthia Bolger  
>  Dora Baggins  
>  Dudo Baggins

“Fancy that!” Sam said, breathless, “all those fine folks coming and having to sign off on Mr. Bilbo taking charge of you. And all of it on your birthdays!” Frodo smiled, his cheeks pinking up in happiness as he replaced the document and went to pour tea.  
  
“It was a very fine birthday,” he said, “I think perhaps one of my best. We had to go to Michel Delving to have it recorded and we stayed in town that night,” he paused, handing Sam a cup of tea, “Bilbo booked some very large banquet hall and invited every Took, Brandybuck and Baggins he could find, and then he made a lot of speeches and got on everyone's nerves! It was fantastic fun.”  
  
“I'll bet it was,” Sam laughed, sipping his tea, “and I remember when Mr. Bilbo come down to Number Three and told dad that he'd brought you to live with him permanent. Dad gave Mr. Bilbo one of those fancy Old Toby leaf bundles they make in the South Farthing, like he'd do for Hamson or Hal when they had a babe.” Frodo blinked, looking surprised.  
  
“I never knew that,” he said, “your father is so kind.” Sam ducked his head and smiled.  
  
“Well, sometimes,” he said, “and I was so happy to hear you had come to Bag End, cause you had took time to play with me and read to me during one of your visits, remember? So I liked you. I asked Mr. Bilbo then, if I might go up and see you but he told me you were tired out. Dad told me later that meant I was being a nuisance.”  
  
“You weren't ever a nuisance Sam Gamgee,” Frodo told him, his eyes bright. Sam grinned, laughing a little. He was sure he had been, but Frodo would never say it. Frodo glanced toward the door and Sam followed his gaze. Pippin stood there, blinking, looking curious.  
  
“Is there breakfast?” he asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“Aye. It's still in the pan, though,” he said and went to set his cup down. Pippin held up a hand.  
  
“Finish your tea, I don't mind serving myself,” he said and disappeared down the hall.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Outside, Merry was busily loading up the cart. There were only a few bags of clothes and Frodo’s little bag of research notes so it was a quick job. Pippin emerged from the garden and stepped out into the lane, hoisting one more bag up into the cart.

“Provisions,” Pippin said and Merry eyed the bag.

“Then I think that’s everything, except for Sam’s bag. Has he gone down to Number Three yet to get his things?” Pippin nodded.

“Just left.”

“Alright then.”

“Merry?” Pippin said quietly as he walked around the side of the cart drawing closer.

“Hm?”

“The one Frodo's interested in – it wouldn't be Sam would it?” Merry froze and stared at him. He frowned.  
  
“Why?” he asked. Pippin stifled a chuckle.  
  
“Because I just saw them gazing into each other's eyes in the study, and saying sweetnesses to each other,” he said. Merry snorted.  
  
“They do that,” he said.  
  
“So,” Pippin said, “what should we do?”  
  
“You're not to mess with them on it,” Merry said, “it's something they have to work out.”  
  
“Oh pooh Merry. You said yourself you wanted to encourage it.”  
  
“Yes, as far as talking to Frodo goes. And that needs careful plotting.”  
  
“You mean you don't trust me to do it,” Pippin paused, “Sam and I have been making friends. Maybe I could talk to Sam about it?”  
  
“Don't go messing about with Sam. Not unless you want Frodo to stop talking to you.”  
  
“Alright. So maybe I won't talk to him about Frodo specifically. Maybe just talk to him about lads.”  
  
“What do you know about that?” Merry laughed, “and what makes you think Sam doesn't know about lads?”  
  
“Well. It is Hobbiton,” Pippin sniffed.  
  
“Underestimate Sam at your own peril.”  
  
“I won’t.”  
  
“And go carefully whatever you do. Though I still advise leaving it be.”  
  
“Hm,” Pippin hummed, “I don’t know. It would be awfully nice if Frodo got a bit closer with Sam. He’d be so much less likely to do something silly.”  
  
“I can’t argue that,” Merry sighed, “and of course, he might be happier.”  
  
“Oh yes, well. I suppose there’s that.”

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Frodo, Pippin, and Sam were off before nine o’clock. They said goodbye to Merry and Fatty, and climbed up into the cart. Sam and Frodo sat at the front, Sam holding the reins as he eased the pony into a trot. They passed quickly from the row and out into the open countryside, riding by farms and scattered holes as they made their way West. They stopped briefly in Waymoot for a rest and quick second breakfast and then it was back on the road.  
  
It was noon before they began to see signs that they were nearing Michel Delving. Carts began to appear on the road with them, mostly hauling produce into town for market. Several hobbits called out a greeting, and many even knew Frodo by name. They were passing holes lined up against the road with only tiny gardens in the front. Children ran out into the road and darted between the carts, catching fruit that fell off the back. More than once Sam had to steer the cart around the particularly brave youngsters.  
  
“Hoy!” he shouted to one boy who had just missed being pulled under the wheels of the cart in front of them. The boy turned to stare at Sam and Frodo and made a face, before breaking into a run and jumped over a row of bushes, disappearing. Sam cast a disbelieving look at Frodo.  
  
“Can’t believe it,” he mumbled, offended, “Folk ought to know better than to let their babes run wild like that.” Frodo only laughed.  
  
They began to enter the town proper, passing through the main gate and descended down a slight hill into a massive cluster of smials, houses and brick buildings. Sam stared about them openmouthed and Frodo chuckled.  
  
“You’ve been to Michel Delving before haven’t you?”  
  
“Once when I was a small lad, but I hardly remember,” Sam said, “Hills upon hills sir… And so many stone buildings and brick buildings! It could be a city of men! It’s a grand place.”  
  
“I think men might have something to say about that,” Pippin chuckled. They continued their trek through town and stopped at an inn called the Pig and Whistle. Sam saw to the pony while Frodo spoke with the innkeeper about their stay. He arranged for a small room off the east end of the inn and space for Thorin the pony in the inn stable. When they were settled, they decided it was time for another meal before they went to visit the archive, and together they dined in the Pig and Whistle’s common room. Afterwards, Pippin promised to see the cart unloaded, so Sam and Frodo left him to it, and walked out onto the broad road that ran through town.  
  
The air was cool, but not unpleasant and Frodo was enjoying the walk. They gossiped a little about the Twofoots and Sam exclaimed over all the food stalls and the shops. Frodo made a slight detour and walked them past the Townhole. Sam had to stop dead in the middle of the street to gape at it, and Frodo had needed to pull him out of the way of passers by who sent them both annoyed looks.  
  
Frodo felt his spirits lift. It was nice to talk to Sam about something other than Lotho, and poisoned mushrooms and night stalkers. They walked quickly through town and found the museum, a spread out hill with large rounded bay windows in the front with flags and banners hanging from the small birch trees that were planted around the entrance.  
  
“The Archive is a very old institution. As old as the Mathom-house in fact,” Frodo said. Sam looked up.  
  
“The museum? You mean, the place where Mr. Bilbo had his mail shirt sent?” he asked. Frodo nodded.  
  
“That and other oddments from his journey. You’ve never been?” Sam shook his head.  
  
“Only came to this town the once with me Gaffer, and that was just to trade seed with one of his gardener friends. We didn’t stay very long. Da said he didn't like all the bustle.”  
  
“We’ll have to go to the museum then,” Frodo said, “I would like to see Dido Burrows. He runs the museum.” They approached the large hill and Sam peered at it.  
  
“It’s bigger than the Dragon,” he said softly.  
  
“It’s much deeper than the Dragon. You're only seeing a small piece of it. The Archive is on the backside, built into the rise off to the right. See the line of arched windows?”  
  
“Why, it doesn’t look nearly as grand,” Sam said, straining to see, “No banners, or pretty door. Is it really part of the museum?” he asked. Frodo hid a smile.  
  
“All part of Brumby's designs to discourage visitors,” he shook his head, “You’ll meet him soon enough.” And they continued up the front walk to the museum entrance. They passed through the door into a welcome dimness and gazed around the front room. It was furnished in brown carpets and there were wooden shelves with small display objects and above lamps lit the room in a warm glow. They waited in silence.  
  
“Mr. Baggins!” a breathless voice gasped from behind a wall of shelves. Frodo turned and saw Dido Burrows bustle around from behind one of the display shelves and stand awkwardly staring at the pair of them.  
  
“Good afternoon Mr. Burrows,” Frodo said, trying to ease the tension in the old hobbit’s face. Dido adored the Bagginses, but because many of his collections were borrowed from Bilbo, he was always afraid that Frodo would turn up one day and ask for it all back.  
  
“A pleasure to see you as always, sir,” Dido said, “What can I do for you today?”  
  
“I have business at the Archive, but I wanted to stop in and visit you.” Frodo stepped back and gestured to Sam, “This is my gardener, Samwise Gamgee. Sam has never been here and I would like for him to see the collections.” Confusion registered on Dido’s face for only an instant before his good manners took hold once more and he stepped forward and shook Sam’s hand heartily.  
  
“Very good, very good, Gamgee did you say?” he said, “I know some Gamgees in Tighfeild. Any relation?” he asked. Sam gave the old curator a shy smile.  
  
“My uncle Andwise and his family live there. They’re ropers.”  
  
“Indeed, yes, I recall now. That rope is some of the finest in the Shire,” Dido said, taking Sam by the shoulder and led him in through to the exhibit hall. Frodo followed them, grateful to Dido that he was putting Sam at ease. It made him even fonder of the old hobbit.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Baggins,” Dido said turning suddenly, “Come this way, just a moment, if you please sir, I’ve just acquired a text I think you’ll find interesting.” He pulled away from Sam and went excitedly to a large wooden display case and opened the glass doors, reaching in to take out a small worn volume. Gingerly he handed it to Frodo. Frodo took it carefully and fingered the binding and cover before opening it.  
  
“Tell me what you make of it, my lad,” Dido said quietly. Frodo studied the page before him.  
  
“The characters are Cirth,” he said slowly, “But the words aren’t Sindarin.”  
  
“Very good,” Dido said softly and Frodo smiled. He had forgotten what it was like to have another scholar, a teacher, looking over his work, the way Bilbo had once done.  
  
“I can’t make out the language. It’s not of the elves. Men perhaps, one of their tongues.” Sam gazed at the book in wonder over Frodo’s shoulder.  
  
“You can’t read it then?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Not to tell you what it means, no,” Frodo answered, “It’s phonetic, so I could make an attempt at the sounds, but it won’t do us much good.” Frodo looked up at Dido, “Where did you get it?”  
  
“A traveler passing through town sold it to me,” Dido said, “Not a hobbit either- a Big Person. He said he was traveling through our lands heading westward, like all the rest.”  
  
“What could he tell you about it?” Frodo asked curiously running his hands over the volume.  
  
“Not very much,” Dido sighed, “I don’t think he was lettered. He had picked it up in his homeland he said, but he couldn’t tell me where that was. It was all very frustrating. I bought it from him anyway because it didn’t seem to be a forgery and the language was a puzzle to me. I was planning on sending you an excerpt to try and work out.” Frodo shook his head and handed it back.  
  
“It is a puzzle,” he said, “I’ll try. Perhaps Bilbo’s library can help me. You never know.”  
  
“Well, don’t spend too much time on it. It’s merely a curiosity,” Dido turned back to Sam, “now, you both wanted to look at the collections didn’t you? Well, come this way then. We’ve got some new things, perhaps that even you haven’t seen, Mr. Baggins.” Dido led them down a long hall with rooms splintering off on the left and right, much like the way that Bag End was laid out, but these rooms were all made to house artifacts and books. Dido led them for a bit, showing them Bilbo’s rooms, where the items he had collected from his journey were stored. He opened a glass case and brought out a thin shard of what looked like metal with bits of glass mixed in. Frodo recognized it immediately and smiled when Dido turned to Sam and told him to hold out his hand. Sam did and Dido placed the object in his hand. Sam gave a start of surprise.  
  
“It’s heavier than it looks,” he said, “What is it?”  
  
“You are holding a dragon scale my lad,” Dido said and Frodo noticed Sam’s face pale.  
  
“From Smaug?” Sam squeaked, staring at the scale.  
  
“Oh very good! You are familiar with the story,” Dido said, pleased. Sam looked up and sought Frodo’s face, his eyes excited.  
  
“If this don’t beat all,” he breathed. They spent the next hour exploring the museum. Frodo finally found Sam standing stock still in front of a case with several gold carved statues. He drew near and Sam turned to give him a shy smile.  
  
“What are they?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Oliphants,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“How funny they look,” Frodo mused, “Do you think any beast could really have such giant tusks?”  
  
“They must,” Sam said, “It’s in the old song. Oh but I should like to see an Oliphant one day.” Frodo looked at him in surprise.  
  
“You believe they’re real?” he asked. Sam stared at him.  
  
“Course,” he said, “Like dragons and elves. I haven’t seen them, but I know they’re real.”  
  
“How do you know?” Frodo asked, feeling unexpectedly troubled. Sam frowned.  
  
“Because of Mr. Bilbo. And you too sir, I believe those tales you tell me,” he paused and shoved his hands in his pockets.  
  
“You put a lot of faith in us, don’t you?” Frodo asked. Sam frowned a little at him.  
  
“Of course I do, sir,” he said, “and with good reason. Don’t you be thinking otherwise.” Frodo had no answer so Sam went on. “It’s funny though, that Mr. Dido, he’s learned too, isn’t he? It gave me a bit of a shock.” Frodo laughed.  
  
“Bilbo and I aren’t the only scholars in the Shire,” he said.  
  
“No, but you’re the wisest,” Sam said immediately, then paused and blushed, not looking at Frodo.  
  
“Thank you for saying that,” Frodo said quietly, “I’m sure it isn’t true; though you may be right about Bilbo. He didn’t get through that dangerous journey just by luck and good company.” Sam glanced up at him and smiled again. “We had best get to the archive. We’ve only got a few hours left of the afternoon. We may have to stay on tomorrow too,” Frodo said, leading the way out. After saying good-bye to Dido they made their way out across the short distance to the entrance of the Archive. Frodo pushed open the old unpainted door and stood in a narrow corridor, peering into the dark recesses of countless rooms beyond the front desk.  
  
“Visitors!” he called out loudly. Sam turned to stare at him, looking shocked. Frodo grinned.  
  
“Don’t bloody shout!” came a voice from down the hall. Frodo chuckled and turned to Sam.  
  
“It’s alright,” he assured his gardener.  
  
“Oh it’s Mr. Baggins the Younger,” said a frumpy hobbit, emerging from the back room. He peered at them through dusty spectacles, his white wispy hair sticking out at odd angles. “Well what do you want?” he asked, unimpressed.  
  
“I have a research request,” Frodo said.  
  
“Should have sent a letter,” the old hobbit grumbled, turning to go back into the stacks.  
  
“It was urgent,” Frodo said, following him, “I need to look into the land rights of the Hill and lands.” Brumby turned back and stared at him.  
  
“Who is that?” he asked, pointed a wizened finger at Sam, who was hovering meekly at Frodo’s side.  
  
“This is my gardener, Sam Gamgee,” Frodo said and turned back to Sam, “Sam, this is Ande Brumby, the archivist here.” Brumby looked suspiciously at Sam.  
  
“He’s not here to help you is he?” he asked and frowned thunderously.  
  
“Sam’s very good with fragile books,” Frodo said quickly, “He’s shifted my books and never cracked a spine, even on the most fragile in my collection.” Brumby snorted and did not answer.  
  
“We’ve some records,” he said, “But it may not help you. Why did you bring your damned gardener?” he asked.  
  
“I told you, Sam’s good with books,” Frodo said patiently. Brumby snorted again and led them back deep into the stacks. He pointed out some boxes and carried them to a research table near a window. Frodo began to open the boxes and take out items. Sam sat close and watched. Brumby settled at the next table and stared at Frodo, vigilantly.  
  
“Go on, I’m not going to steal anything,” Frodo said chuckling. Brumby narrowed his eyes.  
  
“What about your gardener?” he asked.  
  
“Sam’s not going to steal anything either,” Frodo replied, smiling. He could almost feel the tension emanating from Sam. He knew Sam tended not to trust hobbits from other parts of the Shire, and having them mistrust him, and his master above all, was making the younger hobbit agitated and defensive. Yet, he was polite enough to only make a small grumbling noise, too quiet for Brumby to hear. Frodo glanced over at Sam and saw that he was sitting with his arms crossed, his back strait up against the chair back, watching the old hobbit with narrowed eyes.  
  
“Don’t worry Sam,” Frodo said lightly, “Master Brumby doesn’t mean any of it. We’re old friends; and he was great friends with Bilbo too. I’ve heard stories about the two of them going out together and getting uproariously drunk and wandering the streets of Michel Delving singing old dwarvish war ballads.”  
  
“Tis nonsense!” Brumby barked and rose abruptly, stalking back down the row of shelves toward the front. Frodo chuckled softly and turned to look at Sam. Sam stared after the old hobbit, his mouth open. When he noticed Frodo looking at him he closed his mouth and shook his head.  
  
“I don’t understand these folk sir,” he said, “You tell me if I need to do something. I’m a bit lost, if you understand.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Frodo assured him. Frodo spent the next hour pouring over land records, trying to find something related to the Baggins ownership of the Hill lands.  
  
“The problem is that Bungo did a lot of property buying,” Frodo sighed at last, “all at once too. There's about fifty deeds to check all told.”  
  
“Fifty?” Sam squeaked. Frodo winced.  
  
“The Old Took apparently favored Belladonna. Gave them a rather large sum as a wedding present,” he sighed, “and most of these are for small holdings, and most were purchased from old Bracegirdle. The row land was one of those small holdings. And the index doesn't indicate anything other than the parties involved. I'll have to check each one.”  
  
“I'd offer to help, but I'm so afraid I'd make a hash of it,” Sam said unhappily. Frodo flicked his gaze up.  
  
“It will be fine Sam, don't worry,” he said. Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair and brought out his pipe. Sam wasn't much for smoking indoors usually, but Frodo could tell his nerves were frayed.  
  
“I’d not light that if I were you,” he murmured. Sam stopped and stared.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“If you light that pipe in here Master Brumby will flay you, and even my influence won’t protect you.”  
  
“Oh right sir,” Sam said and put his pipe away quickly. Frodo gave him a smile to let Sam know he wasn’t upset.  
  
“We're sitting in perhaps the worst fire trap in all the Shire. Plus, pipe-weed smoke is very bad for paper. Gets absorbed in the fibers and smells don’t you know.”  
  
“Sorry sir,” Sam said quietly then frowning whispered, “But sir, you smoke in your libra-” Frodo looked up in alarm and shushed him. Sam ducked his head guiltily, “Sorry sir.” Frodo covered his mouth but knew Sam could see him laughing silently.  
  
“Best not say that too loudly,” Frodo managed after a moment, “Else you’ll have me flayed too.”

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Sam walked the stacks, stretching his legs. The narrow walkways between high shelves, the musty smell and dimness made him feel restless. He shuddered to think what it would be like to have to be trapped in this airless lightless place everyday. He rounded the corner, turning back to the space at the end with tables and tall windows, where Frodo worked. Sam took a breath and felt himself relaxing.  
  
At least here light filtered in, the beams full of dust particles, illuminating everything that fell in their path. Sam traced one beam down to where Frodo sat, with a thick dirty volume propped up on wedges to keep from stressing the binding. Frodo was engrossed in his work, making notes and reading the cramped little letters. Sam watched him and felt a curious warmth fill him. At first, he thought it was the same fondness that he’d felt watching Frodo in his library, working on behalf of the row families. But that fondness had never made his heart pound or brought a flush to his face. Sam’s eyes widened and he pushed down the reaction.  
  
_Fancy that!_ He thought. _I can’t get any sillier, can I?_ He shook himself and went into the research area, sitting at the table with Frodo. Frodo’s eyes flicked over to him and he smiled lightly before returning to his work.  
  
“I’ve some tea made Mr. Baggins,” Brumby called into the stacks. Sam turned and saw the archivist watching his master with raised eyebrows, “You will of course have to come out of there to enjoy it.” Frodo glanced up from his readings.  
  
“No thank you, I’m rather in the middle of this, but Sam might enjoy a cup,” he said. Sam shot him a pained look. Truth be told he was beyond parched, the dust and heavy air were making him uncomfortable, yet the prospect of having to spend time in close quarters with Brumby made him pause. Frodo smiled for a moment and gave him an encouraging look. “Go on,” he whispered, “Brumby’s not so bad.” Sam nodded feebly and rose, making his way back to the front of the hole where the little kitchen was lit in warm sunlight shining in through two small windows. Brumby nodded to him and gave him a cup, motioning for Sam to sit across the table from him. Sam took the cup and sat, blowing on the tea before sipping it. To his surprise it was very good, a fruity sort of blend brewed at just the right strength, and Sam felt a little ashamed for expecting old tea brewed too long. Brumby studied him for a moment before saying,  
  
“What are you lad, some sort of butcher? You’ve the arms for it, sure as sure.” Sam stopped himself from scowling and instead stared back innocently.  
  
“I’m a gardener sir,” he said.  
  
“Oh yes, you’re master said as much come to think on it,” Brumby said and took a sip of tea, “Gardener? Hm,” he said the word as if it were foreign, “I suppose that’s with the plants and dirt and… things.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam answered. He could see nothing would come of this conversation and tried to drink his tea quicker. Brumby suddenly slammed his cup down, sloshing hot tea in the air.  
  
“Damn!” he shouted. Sam jerked at the noise, almost expecting the archivist to leap across the table and try to throttle him.  
  
_Heavens! What did I do?_ Sam thought frantically, but Brumby wasn’t paying attention to him but was instead lifting his teacup and peering under it, then grinned in triumph.  
  
“Damnable silverfish!” he said heartily, “At least this little bastard won’t be chewing up anymore of my books.” Sam blinked and saw the crushed body of an insect on the table.  
  
“Oh aye, you did well there sir,” Sam said, “Silverfish are a nasty nuisance and no mistake. Had to get rid of them at Bag End. They were chewing up Mr. Frodo’s nice bindings on his books.” Brumby shot him a keen look.  
  
“What do you know about that boy?” Sam felt startled. What did this cranky old hobbit want to know about some household matter?  
  
“Well, it just what the bugs do sir,” he said carefully, “They want to eat that glue and paper. Makes these funny little trailing holes and ruins books.”  
  
“You say you got rid of the silverfish in your master’s library?” Brumby asked impatiently.  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Well I use a kind of soil, lads around home call it Dwaling clay, a sort of whitish powdery stuff they mine up in the North Farthing,” he paused and eyed Brumby.  
  
“Aye?” Brumby said impatiently. Sam swallowed nervously.  
  
“Farmers use it for all sorts of things see, but I heard slugs didn’t like the stuff so I got some to try on Mr. Frodo’s garden. Well sir, it got rid of the slugs sure enough and when Mr. Frodo said as there was some pest in his books chewing up the binding well, I laid down a little of the soil in the baseboards and they all started dying, just like that.”  
  
“You didn’t try quicksilver or sulfur or arsenic? That is the usual method,” Brumby growled at him. Sam frowned.  
  
“I’d not use that stuff around books sir,” Sam said a little indignantly, “Quicksilver is poison to plants. I know they say it’s all right for hobbits but if it kills plants seems sense there’s some harm in it. I’d not chance it. Arsenic is the same and as for sulfur it’d smell foul and I’d not want Mr. Frodo to have to put up with that. Especially in his own library.”  
  
“Hm!” Brumby snorted, but he sounded impressed.  
  
“Sam?” Frodo called. Sam stood and Brumby took his cup.  
  
“Yes sir?” Sam answered, stepping back into the gloom.  
  
“I may have found something. Come and see.” He found Frodo still at the little desk with a new pile of ledgers and an open box. He was turned watching Sam make his way back with a look of shining excitement. Sam felt relieved.  
  
“Here, just here. I found loose deed records, collected together when Bilbo had his will made out, looks like. He had these chains of title rerecorded to be attachments to his will and they all got filed in the loose deeds, his will included.” Frodo said, looking down at an open folder of string tied documents. He spread them out gingerly for Sam to examine and pointed to a small section written in a precise hand. Sam read,

> “I Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton, in the West Farthing of the Shire being of sound mind and disposing memory and being desirous to settle my worldly affairs while I have health to do so make ordain and publish this my last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all Wills here fore by me, at any time made.”

“This I’ve read. I have a signed and sealed copy at Bag End. And I may have seen these additions when his estate was probated, but my copy of the will doesn't include these attachments,” he said and indicated the papers hanging at the end of the will. Sam leaned over and read:

> Codicil  
>  Item 36,
> 
> The appended grants of freehold right to row lots One through Four and accompanying chains of Title, shall stand in perpetuity, passed from each head of household to his or her assigns and heirs. Title to the row lots, originally purchased by my father Bungo Baggins from Rodovald Bracegirdle on the fifteenth day of August, in the Year of Shire Reckoning Twelve Hundred and Eighty-Six, containing fifty and one half acres, shall in turn pass from me to my dear heir Frodo Baggins upon reaching his age of Majority and upon the Probating of this instrument.
> 
> In witness whereof, Adelard Took, Ordinary of said Farthing and official clerk have herto set my hand and seal of office.
> 
> This the 2nd day of September, Shire Reckoning Year 1391
> 
> Witness  
>  Ranson Twofoot, his mark X  
>  Rorimac Brandybuck  
>  Ginger Hogburrow  
>  Hamfast Gamgee, his mark X  
>  Fanigar Baggins  
>  Fermibras Took  
>  Saradoc Brandybuck, Esquire

Dangling from the bottom of the page were four paragraph lengths of script, each identically worded except the names and parcels, each numbered lot matched to a hole on the row. Sam’s eyes went to the third in line, labeled Row Lott Number Three, and buried in the text he saw his father’s name in flowing script:

> Now Know Yee that I the said Bilbo Baggins pursuant to the said Deed and in performance of the said Trust Do Grant and enfeoff unto Hamfast Gamgee one hole lott in Overhill District in the West Farthing expressed in the said Plan by Number Three containing sixty ells in front and ninety ells in depth And one Garden Lott containing Three Acres.

“And this,” Frodo said, triumphantly, carefully drawing back the layers of attached documents, affixed by wax seal. Behind a few other papers, at the very back was a half page with a small block of text.

> West Farthing } This Indenture made this Fifteenth day of August In the Shire Reckoning Year of Twelve Eighty Six between Rodovald Bracegirdle of the Farthing aforesaid on the one part and Bungo Baggins of the said Farthing of the other part. Witnesseth that the said Rodovald Bracegirdle for and in consideration of the Sum expressed in the affixed receipt to him in hand paid at and before the Sealing and Delivery of the Presents the Receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged hath granted bargained sold and conveyed and do by these present grant bargain sell and convey unto the said Bungo Baggins his heirs and assigns all that lying and being in the West Farthing in the Overhill District being commonly known as the Road lot containing Fifty and One half acres To have and to hold the said lot or track of land unto himself said Bungo Baggins his heirs and assigns together with all and singular the Rights thereof to the same in any manner belonging to his and their own proper use benefit and behoof forever in fee simple. And the said Rodovald Bracegirdle promises unto the said Bungo Baggins his heirs and assigns will warrant and forever defend the Right and Title hereof against themselves and against the claim of all other persons whatever –
> 
> Signed Seal and Delivered – Rodovald Bracegirdle  
>  In Presence of
> 
> Mungo Baggins  
>  Gerontius Took  
>  Donnamira Boffin  
>  Longo Baggins  
>  Camellia Sackville-Baggins  
>  Hildigrim Took  
>  Rosa Took

“Not only does this prove that Lobelia's grandfather sold the row land to Bungo, Otho Sackville-Baggins' parents were witnesses!” Frodo laughed, “I can't wait to see the look on Lotho's face when I produce this!”  
  
“And,” Sam gasped, “and this copy of the deed, it's right? I mean, it will work? To prove your claim to the row?”  
  
“Yes, Sam,” Frodo breathed and flipped through the rest of the attached papers, “These are copies of the deeds- a complete chain of title from Bungo to me. All with citations to the original recorded copy in the deed volume, and I just checked - it’s the same. All the signatures are there. No matter that the Fathering court copy didn't have all the signatures, these do!” Frodo said smiling and grasped the paper, “All in red ink too!” he cried in triumph, “I’ve got him!”  
  
“Did you find what you needed Mr. Baggins?” Brumby asked coming into the back.  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo said brightly, “Master Brumby, I need copies of these documents send to Judge Greyfoot. They will need to be certified as being on record here, if you don't mind.” Brumby scowled, looking as through he did mind.  
  
“It will be three weeks,” he said.  
  
“I am afraid it is a rather urgent matter,” Frodo said, “I am of course willing to pay for expediency.” Brumby huffed.  
  
“You're just like your uncle. Treating me and my staff as if we were at his beck an call. No young Baggins. It isn't simple as all that. My clerk is traveling and will not expected back for at least a fortnight.”  
  
“I understand,” Frodo said soothingly to the old hobbit, “but perhaps there is someone else in the village able to make the copies?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then perhaps,” Frodo said quietly, “perhaps I could act as your clerk? I have good handwriting. Sam can vouch for me. And I would be willing to complete any test you-”  
  
“No, young Baggins,” Brumbly puffed his cheeks out, “you are not a clerk! You are not a notary and you have no certificate. I said three weeks and I mean three weeks.”  
Sam watched Frodo argue a while longer, but when it became clear that Brumby would not budge, Frodo gave in. They left the archives not long after and Frodo took them down the road to the postmasters. When they entered, Sam caught his breath and blinked at the lines of hobbits, waiting to mail post, and all the little desks that lines the walls. Frodo went to one of those desks and started dashing off a letter.  
  
“Sir? What are we doing?” Sam asked him.  
  
“I'm petitioning the West Farthing Court to rerecord the deed from the copy of record on file in the archives,” Frodo said, sounding very smug.  
  
“And that means what?” Sam asked.  
  
“Well. First it means that whatever Lotho gets up to, his motion will be put on hold until the Farthing copy is compared with the archive's copy. So, even if Brumby can't get a certified copy out in time, it won't matter. Lotho won't do some end run around and get a judge to decide anything without consulting both copies.”  
  
“Oh!” Sam murmured, then sank into silence, letting Frodo work. At last, Frodo finished his letter and went to mail it. Sam watched him, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Frodo was so certain of it all. Everything would be alright.  
  
They returned to the Pig and Whistle Inn, and spent an hour or so resting in the inn room. Frodo wanted a bit of time for going through his notes, underscoring the passages he'd copied that were most relevant in proving his ownership. Pippin was still out visiting his favorite haunts and wasn't expected back for an hour or so. Sam sat with Frodo and gazed at the dates Frodo had jotted down. He touched the numbers 1286, the date of the deed between Rodovald Bracebirdle and Bungo Baggins. Almost a hundred years before his own birth.  
  
“This was before Bag End was built,” he said, then blushed. Of course the Hill hadn't even been delved yet. Frodo nodded.  
  
“It was 1289 when Bag End was completed.”  
  
“That's fast.”  
  
“Well,” Frodo laughed, “not fast enough for Mrs. Belladonna. A lot of her money went into the construction and she wanted a home as fast as might be had.”  
  
“Twelve eighty-nine,” Sam paused, “so just a year before Mr. Bilbo was born.” To his surprise Frodo burst out with a laugh.  
  
“That's not a coincidence you know!” he said, smiling, “there was apparently a party to celebrate the completion of Bag End. And... Well. Bilbo was the result.”  
  
“Oh!” Sam laughed.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

When Pippin returned they went down into the common room and had their dinner, joining the company to listen to an old gaffer tell about the performers that had come to the recent fair in Scary.  
  
“Twas a hag- a crone- I tells you,” the gaffer insisted, “And she told fortunes. True ones! She saw my Hyacinth’s with child and nobody but our family knew that.” A sandy haired hobbit leaned over to Frodo and whispered, “You’d not know sir, not being from here, but guessing that lady Hyacinth is with child is a good bet any day.” Frodo laughed.  
  
“Just how many babes does the lady have?” he asked.  
  
“Ten at last count,” the stranger said chuckling and slapped Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo grinned and glanced at Sam beside him. Sam had been watching the gaffer but turned when he felt Frodo’s eyes on him and smiled pleasantly.  
  
“No so different from home eh?” Frodo asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“Aye sir, it’s not the Dragon but it feels a bit the same. Maybe not all other parts of the Shire are so bad,” he said generously.  
  
“I think you like the beer in any case,” Pippin laughed, eyeing Sam’s drained mug. Sam flashed him a bright grin.  
  
“They do have a good brew,” he allowed. They spent a pleasant hour or so sitting among the company, until Frodo grew weary and retired back to their room. Sam and Pippin stayed in the common room a while longer. It wasn't quite dark yet, so they had a bit of time before making their rounds. By and by, the proprietor made his way to them, and leaned across the counter, holding his pipe out to Pippin.  
  
"Would you like a bit of Old Sunno?" he asked. Pippin paused a moment then shook his head.  
  
"No thank you, I'm afraid," he said. The hobbit turned to Sam and offered the pipe.  
  
"What about you young lad?"  
  
“Oh well," Sam said, "yes thank you." He took the pipe and put the stem in his mouth, taking a draw. It had a sharp bite to it and Sam almost coughed. He breathed out and handed the pipe back.  
  
"Tis a local specialty," the hobbit said proudly, "how do you like it?"  
  
"It's very nice," Sam said politely. The hobbit looked pleased.  
  
"I'm glad you like it. It's a bit much for some," he said and turned away, "let me know if I can get you lads anything."

"Thank you," Pippin said and tuned back to his cider. He said in a low voice to Sam, "they've nice manners at this inn."

"Yes sir," Sam agreed. Pippin smiled.

"Not bad for hobbits from queer parts of the Shire, eh?"

"Michel Delving isn't queer," Sam said frowning, "well, no, it is, but it's not queer as some of the North Farthing."

"Or Buckland?" Pippin teased. Sam sent him a frown.

"Now I never said such a thing Mr. Pippin," he said.

"Buckland is nice," Pippin told him, emphatically, "you should come sometime, with Frodo."

"I can't think of any reason Mr. Frodo would need a gardener with him in Buckland."

"Maybe not a gardener, but I'm sure he'd like to have you along as a friend."

"I don't know about that," Sam murmured.

"You've gone with him places as a friend before, haven't you?" Pippin asked. Sam frowned. He felt a little dizzy at the question and his cheeks went hot. "Sam?"

"I've gone with him into the country once or twice," Sam said slowly, "never really thought of it as going with him as a friend. Just thought he wanted someone to talk to on the long walks."

"Sounds like wanting a friend along to me," Pippin said gently. Sam nodded and felt disconcerted when the dizziness didn't fade. He blinked, trying to clear his head.

"Mr. Pippin?"

"Yes Sam?"

"I feel a bit funny," Sam said. Pippin turned and blinked in surprise. He frowned.

"That will just be the Old Sunno," he said slowly, his eyes widening, "Sam, didn't you know?" he whispered.

"Know what?" Sam asked, his voice going a little high as he wobbled on his stool. Pippin put an arm around his shoulders to hold him still.

"Oh dear. I thought you knew. Old Sunno has a rather peculiar effect."

"What kind of effect?" Sam asked, and tried to steady his breathing. It felt disconcertingly like he was being pulled downstream by a fast current. Except that he was sitting still on dry land.

"Don't worry. It's nothing that will hurt you. Actually it's generally quite nice," he sent Sam a conspiratorial look, "I enjoy it fairly often, but I wanted to keep a clear head tonight. I was surprised when you accepted the proprietor's offer."

"I didn't know," Sam cried, "Mr. Pippin, why would I do that when we're to be on guard tonight?" Pippin patted his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I just thought you must know. Have a tolerance for such. You're older than me Sam. I sometimes just trust that you know things. I'm very sorry. I should have warned you."

"Nay, Mr. Pippin. You didn't know that I didn't know and I thought I knew... oh dear," he gripped the counter, trying not to fall off the stool.

"That's it. Back up to Frodo you go," Pippin said, gingerly helping Sam off the stool.

"Mr. Pippin, I can't face Mr. Frodo like this!" he said, distraught.

"Nonsense," Pippin said, and dug into his purse and pulled out a few coins, putting them on the counter. "if I judge right it's better for you to be in a quiet place while this passes." Sam blinked. He couldn't argue that.

Together they made their way out of the common room, Pippin keeping a steadying hand on Sam's shoulders, steering him, as they entered the hallway leading to the inn rooms.

"Dear me, Sam," Pippin said, watching him, "Old Sunno doesn't usually hit so hard that a hobbit can't walk straight." Sam murmured a reply, overwhelmed by the hum in his brain. "Maybe it's because you haven't had it before. It's gone right to your head. Or maybe it's a particularly good batch," he sighed, mournful.

"Mr. Pippin."

"Sorry, not helping I know," Pippin laughed. Sam groaned, feeling very unhappy. "What's wrong? You're alright."

"No, it's not alright," Sam said and felt close to tears suddenly, "I don't want to see Mr. Frodo when I'm like this. And I was supposed to be keeping a watch out tonight. What'll he think of me?" Pippin paused.

"Oh Sam," he said gently, "Frodo won't think badly of you. I promise. And I'll explain," he smiled, "you walked Frodo home when he got soused, remember?"

"That's different," Sam sniffed.

"Frodo knows he can rely on you. And you can rely on us. Don't worry. I'll keep a watch on things downstairs and walk the perimeter and all that."

"I was supposed to do that with you. What if something happens? You didn't ought to do it alone."

"Alright!" Pippin laughed, "I'll make friends with someone downstairs and ask them to walk with me."

"They'll think you're mad," Sam grumbled as they reached their door.

"Oh well. It won't be the first time," he said and opened the door, drawing Sam inside. Frodo looked up from his chair by the fire and blinked at them.

"Sam?"

"Now, Frodo," Pippin began, keeping a tight hold on Sam as he brought him further into the room.

"I'm sorry," Sam managed, but he was so mortified by the shock in Frodo's eyes and riding too deep in his haze to be able to offer more than that.

"What did you do to Sam?" Frodo asked, his ire suddenly focused on Pippin.

"Hey now!" Pippin deposited Sam onto the settle. Frodo was up and moving across the room to hover at Sam's side. "He was offered a bit of Old Sonno and took a draw from the proprietor's pipe. He didn't know what it does," Pippin said quickly. Frodo's frown only deepened.

"You didn't tell him, you mean," he said sharply, "that's not funny, Pippin."

"Mr. Pippin thought I knew," Sam said, "Honest. He... He wasn't trying to make a fool of me."

"I thought he had a tolerance! Lot's of hobbits can take a draw and feel just a bit of the effect." Frodo's ire cooled to mild frustration.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I'll help you make your rounds and keep watch then."

"No," Pippin and Sam both said.

"Alright, you two," Frodo began.

"Nay, Mr. Frodo, you can't," Sam pleaded, "Please don't. That's the whole point, don't you see? And I can't bear it. If you go outside something could happen and it would be my fault."

"It will be fine," Pippin said, "I've already told Sam, I'll find someone downstairs to walk with me," Pippin said, going to the door. "Take care, Sam. Sorry again." He darted out, closing the door behind him. Frodo huffed and sat on the settle arm, peering at Sam.

"I suppose he knows what he's about."

"Yes sir."

"And I can hardly think we'll be attacked with so many merry hobbits about."

"Maybe."

"Oh Sam," Frodo sighed and moved onto the settle beside him, "how are you?"

"I don't know," Sam murmured.

"Poor thing," Frodo said, "perhaps I should have said something too. Old Sonno is rather popular in Michel Delving, it being a specialty of theirs."

"T'isnt your fault," Sam sighed, "I'm not even half-wise tonight. Oh, I feel such a fool."

"Don't," Frodo said quietly.

“You're very kind,” Sam murmured, gulping, “but... I ought know better than... I always heard this place was a caution... and me not taking care... when I'm supposed to... an all...”

“Sam,” Frodo murmured, “be easy. You're not thinking clearly. That's what's upsetting you. Try and be calm.” Sam heard himself sniffing and felt tears falling down his cheeks. “Here now,” Frodo said gently and put his arm around Sam, drawing him close. The tears came easier now, though Sam wasn't altogether sure why he was crying. Frodo rubbed his arm. “You've never had anything like this, have you?” he asked him.

“No.”

“I'm sorry. It's usually nice,” Frodo said quietly, “Try not to worry about me or anything else. You're alright.”

“I'll try,” Sam sniffed.

“Good.”

After a few minutes, Sam felt himself relaxing, despite still being upset. Frodo's presence, the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet sound of the fire crackling, helped ease the tightness in his chest. For the first time Sam began to be able to enjoy the haze enveloping him. He leaned into Frodo's side, laying his head on his shoulder and felt his thoughts slip from one thing to another, moving deeper and further away from consciousness as each moment slid by.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam said slowly and it felt like he was saying it from a great distance. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see that the fire had burned down a good bit. And yet, Frodo was still at his side, his arm still comfortingly around Sam's shoulders.

"Yes Sam?"

"Have you ever had a pipe of that stuff?" he asked. There was a slight pause.

"Yes."

"How long does it last?"

"Depends. I suspect you'll feel back to normal come morning."

"Oh," Sam murmured forlorn.

"What's wrong?"

"What if something comes in the night?" he asked.

“You’ve got your little garden cutless, haven’t you? I’ll borrow it and fend off anything that comes near us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll keep us safe.”

“Oh,” Sam murmured with a sigh. He felt Frodo rub his shoulder and he turned his face up. Sam had disgraced himself this evening. Other gentlehobbits might have a hard word for him or best case they might make jokes at his expense, and send him off to recover by himself, but not Frodo. Frodo looked down at him and smiled, moving his hand up to ruffle Sam's curls. Sam looked into those bright gentle eyes and felt his heart melt.

_I love him so,_ he thought. He bowed his head, letting his forehead rest against Frodo's shoulder. He heard Frodo chuckle softly, then he folded Sam into a fuller embrace and Sam let his eyes slip shut once more, relishing the warmth and closeness. Sam was fairly sure Frodo was only doing this because he was off his head. He probably wanted to show Sam he wasn’t upset with him, and maybe offer a little comfort, if the experience was unsettling. Sam wished they could share moments like this more often though. It was nice.

After a time Frodo's voice came in the darkness.

"Are you ready for bed?"

"Yes sir," Sam said and slowly sat up blinking.

"Do you need help?" Frodo asked. Sam made a try at standing and felt clear-headed enough to maneuver himself.

"Nay," he said, "I think I'm a bit better." Frodo rose as well and they began to prepare for bed. Frodo washed his face at the washstand and Sam changed into his night shirt. Then, Frodo banked the fire while Sam took his turn at the washstand. His head might have been a little clearer, but he still felt the relaxing haze buzzing through him. They got into their beds and Frodo turned the lamp low. He turned to Sam and smiled faintly.

"I hope you don't think too badly of yourself for this evening. I don't."

"I suppose it will look a lot funnier when I look back on it."

"Maybe so," Frodo smiled at him and Sam smiled back. Frodo was so kind to him.

"Good night m'dear," he said. Frodo's eyes widened for just a moment before his smile came.

"Good night Sam."

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Pippin paused behind the inn, gazing up at the stars for a moment. He felt relaxed, for all the dark talk of keeping guard and night figures stalking Frodo, he didn't think there was much anyone would dare in a place as busy and merry as downtown Michel Delving. All the same, as promised, he'd recruited the innkeeper's son to walk around the inn with him and keep a watch out. The boy was a few paces away, positioned around front to keep a watch that way. If either of them saw something alarming they'd promised to give a shout. They were both armed, Pippin with a dagger and the boy with a hay fork. The innkeeper had looked as if he were very uncomfortable about the whole thing, afraid their guard would make his inn look less friendly, but then it had been the young Thain-son asking. So they'd gone along to please him. The boy had looked excited at least.  
  
Pippin chuckled and returned his gaze to the little hills and houses before him. Most were packed tightly together, providing a secure wall against anything creeping in. Off to his right was a little rise and on the other side, Pippin knew there to be a row of delved holes, and he could hear the sound of hobbits chatting and singing from over the ridge. They were protected it seemed. He sighed, settling into his watch and allowing his thoughts to drift. Mostly he thought about Merry's words, about pairing Sam and Frodo, and about their plans to keep Frodo in the Shire.  
  
The wind picked up and Pippin shivered. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders, but the chill persisted, rolling over him, and penetrating deep to his bones. Pippin stiffened, gasping. He'd never felt anything like that. He stilled, becoming suddenly alert, though he did not know why at first. Then he noticed that the crickets had stopped their chirping. All was still and quiet and the shadows grew darker. Pippin clutched his lantern and felt for his dagger. His eyes searched the darkness. Then he saw it. A lone figure, stepped out of the brush, standing up on the rise.  
  
Pippin stared, not understanding what he was seeing. The figure was hobbit sized but it was so still and silent. And though there was a bit of light from the torches and the stars above, the figure was in shadow. It turned slowly, surveying the hills below, and Pippin realized that the hobbit's back was to him. He cocked his head, watching closer. Surely it was just a town hobbit, or even one of the Hobbitry-in-arms out on some errand. His fear melted a little. He was scaring himself. As if to prove his point, another figure stepped from the gloom, approaching the first. They paused together, and Pippin thought he heard some faint words on the wind. He blinked, about to turn away and continue walking around the inn to check the sides, as they were supposed to do every few minutes. But then the wind shifted once more and the smell of death hit him. Pippin gasped and froze, wrenching around to stare up at the figures.  
  
They were standing still, and they were looking down at him.  
  
Pippin found himself rooted to the spot. The Took gave a soft cry, but it died on his lips. He tried to flee, but when his legs moved they sent him up the rise, going to meet the creatures. His nerveless hands let go of his lantern and it fell with a crash, snuffed out on the wet earth. Night closed in around him as Pippin left the little circle of torchlight. His heart was hammering wildly. He tried to give a shout, but his jaw locked. He was only able to give a soft whimper of terror as the night swallowed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwaling clay is a reference to Bann clay, otherwise called dichotomous earth.
> 
> All the legal documents quoted use language lifted from 19th century deeds, guardianships, and wills. The only exception is the grant to Hamfast, which came from an early 18th century grant- I used that because it's supposed to be a grant borrowing from older language of men. And it had the word enfeoff in it. Which is cool.


	10. The Watchers and the Watched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I enjoyed the movies but I think they did a really bad job of establishing basic motivations for Pippin and Merry. They meet up in a field with Frodo and Sam, and Pippin says something about being distantly related to Frodo and then... when they see Frodo is in danger they drop everything, give up their lives and follow Frodo on an obviously life threatening quest across the world. For no reason as far as I can tell. I know they had to cut things for time but removing the Conspiracy and how close Frodo is with his friends robbed them of their reasons for following him. It would have been nice to know why they went since we follow them for three long ass movies. 
> 
> So anyway. I'm going to spend a good bit of this fic binding those relationships tighter, because I think its important to see why Frodo's friends are so willing to follow him, and how much they are willing to give up just to stick with him. Since Frodo is gay in this story it ends up adding another layer and the support of his friends becomes even more important. Plus, non-romantic male affection is such a part of the books and even the movies. 
> 
> Sidebar: I've met a few folks who have a problem with the male affection in lotr, even the male affection in the movies. I had an old boss who really enjoyed lotr but she told me that she hated Sam. I was like, wtf kind of person hates Sam? And why? Well she said it was because he was, "too effeminate. Too emotional and sort of gay." I knew she wasn't a great person before that, but that's when I decided she was The Worst. 
> 
> Also, when I was watching fotr in the theater and it gets to that point when Boromir is dying and he calls Aragorn his king and Aragorn kisses his forehead, I was totally in the moment, nearly in tears, and then when the kiss happened I hear, "Eww!" from behind me. I'm still pissed off about it. 
> 
> So yeah. Anyway.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I'm still aiming for around once a week/two weeks, but I'm not going to rush re-writing and editing. As always, thanks for reading. Leave a note if you enjoy.

“Mr. Baggins?”  
  
Frodo opened his eyes. The room was dark and he had a feeling that he hadn't been asleep all that long.  
  
“Mr. Baggins, sir?” came the call again. It was coming from the hall outside their room. Frodo stood and felt his way to the door. He opened it to find one of the innkeeper's sons standing, lantern in hand, looking apologetic.  
  
“I am sorry to wake you Mr. Baggins, but your young Mr. Took had a fainting spell or some such and I thought you needed to know.”  
  
“What?” Frodo asked sharply, “is he alright?”  
  
“Well, it's not for me to say,” the hobbit said.  
  
“Where is he?” Frodo asked, drawing a coat from the peg at the door, and going out into the hallway.  
  
“He's in the common room with my dad and some of the others.”  
  
Frodo heard the rustle of bed covers and turned to see Sam trying to climb out of bed.  
  
“I’ll be right there,” he said to the boy and turned away stepping back into the room. “Sam, go back to sleep. I’m just going out to the common room.”  
  
“But I...” Sam tried. Frodo put a firm hand on his shoulder. Sam stared up at him, blinking in the light, fighting to focus his gaze.  
  
“There will be plenty of hobbits about. It will be alright.”  
  
“But,” Sam struggled, frowning.  
  
“Stay here,” Frodo told him sternly. Sam gave him a pleading look. “I will be back soon,” he added in a softer tone.  
  
“Alright,” Sam said in a small voice. Frodo turned and went back out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He went down the hallways quickly and rounded the corners, feeling his heart begin to pound. A fainting spell? What did that mean? Frodo burst into the common room, ready to call out orders for a healer and try to rouse his poor cousin.  
  
What he didn't expect to find was Pippin sitting by the fire, sipping a beer and cheerfully telling tales to a group of hobbits. Pippin spotted him and raised his glass.  
  
“Oh hello, Frodo,” he called. Frodo stood stock still, then went to him.  
  
“Pippin?” he said in a low voice, “are you alright?”  
  
“Fine,” Pippin said, “sorry, did they wake you? I think I alarmed the innkeeper and his son,” he said apologetically. Frodo took a seat beside Pippin on the brick hearth.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“Well,” Pippin said, taking a drink, “I was just about to tell these lads-” His words were cut off as the door opened and four sharply dressed hobbits thundered in, their eyes lighting on Pippin. They wore sashes marking them as part of the Hobbitry-in-arms. Pippin gave a sigh. “Oh, the cavalry is here.” The leader of the group went to Pippin and bowed.  
  
“Mr. Pippin!” the hobbit said, “can we be of service? We heard there was an attack on you.”  
  
“I am fine! As I was telling these nice hobbits. No need to go to trouble,” Pippin said lightly.  
  
“I'm afraid we will need a statement, sir, a description of your attacker,” one of the other guards said. Pippin sighed.  
  
“Well, then you need to talk to that boy, over there, he ran the blaggard off,” he pointed to the innkeeper's son, “I'm afraid I saw very little of my attacker.” The guard's attention shifted and they turned, going to the boy who looked alarmed at the approaching guards. The hobbits sitting around Pippin paused only a moment before getting up and following, eager to hear the boy's story.  
  
“Ah damn,” Pippin said laughing, “I lost my audience.” Frodo set a hand on Pippin back and blinked in surprise. For all of Pippin's cheerful talk, Frodo could feel him trembling. He looked into Pippin's face and now he saw the strain behind his smile. The realization pierced his heart.  
  
“My poor little cousin,” he murmured, tucking Pippin under his arm. Pippin snorted.  
  
“Say that a bit louder, Frodo. I don't think the entire company of Thain Guards heard you.”  
  
“Oh. I'm sorry,” Frodo said sheepishly. Pippin only laughed, but he was still shaking and he made no move to dislodge Frodo's arm. Frodo reached down and took one of his hands. It was cold. Too cold.  
  
“What happened?” he asked. Pippin smiled.   
  
“I was very silly. I wandered out behind the inn by myself while the innkeeper's boy I'd recruited walked around the front. That was the trouble,” he paused, then went on, his voice lowering, “I saw something, up on the hill. And it saw me. And,” he broke off again, his mouth working. He frowned and took a sip of beer. “It had me. I walked out into the dark. I couldn't stop. And then I don't remember anything. I must have fallen. The boy, he said he saw someone standing over me. He gave a shout and ran out there at it with his hay fork and it went on. Then I sort of come to and we ran back here.”  
  
“Oh, Pippin,” Frodo clutched him tighter.  
  
“I'll have to compare stories with Sam,” his smiled froze, “oh dear. I think Sam might blame himself for this.” He winced and turned his gaze to Frodo, “any chance we can not tell Sam?”  
  
“You might try,” Frodo snorted, “but Sam finds out everything in the end. Oh, lord, speaking of which,” he said as he caught sight of Sam tottering down the hall, entering the common room. Frodo rose and went to meet him. Sam looked sheepish as he approached. “Stubborn hobbit,” Frodo said, his voice pitched low for Sam’s ears only, “can’t you stay put when your told to?”  
  
“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” Sam said, but he didn’t look repentant at all. Frodo tucked his arm around Sam’s elbow and led him to the fire place.  
  
“Hello Sam,” Pippin said, “how are you?”  
  
“A bit better,” Sam said stoutly, “and you, Mr. Pippin?” Pippin took a breath, giving him a tight smile.  
  
“I’ve been better.”  
  
“Do we need to call a healer?” Frodo asked in a low voice.  
  
“I'm fine I think. Just shaken. And a bit cold,” Pippin said with a frown, closing his eyes, “this fire feels wonderful.” Frodo put his arm around Pippin again and held him close.  
  
Part of him had wanted to believe the danger had moved on. The creatures Sam had seen were passing wild things. Same with the wolf stalking around Bag End. Nothing to do with him. It had been easier to think of his problems with Lotho. He'd somehow thought the other things would work themselves out. They didn't really have anything to do with him. They couldn't.  
  
But now, there was no denying it. The terror had followed him to Michel Delving. To this very inn. Frodo shivered and held Pippin closer. Those things had almost taken Pippin.  
  
_Why come after me? Why attack my friends?_ He wondered. _I've never done anything to bring such trouble down on myself. What could these things possibly want with me?_ He closed his eyes, trying to sooth himself by focusing on the warmth of the fire at his back and the low talk of the hobbits on the other side of the common room. But it wasn't enough to keep his heart from pounding.  
  
He felt a touch and opened to eyes to see Sam covering his hand with his own, watching him. They gazed at once another. _What a sweet hobbit,_ Frodo thought and kept his attention on Sam. Better than the warmth from the fire, and the knowledge that they were with other hobbits, Sam's presence soothed him in a way that nothing else could. Finally his heart began to slow, moving back into it's regular steady rhythm.  
  
“Mr. Baggins?” Frodo turned to see the leader of the Hobbitry-in-arms approaching once more.  
  
“Sir?” he said. Sam withdrew his hand.  
  
“The innkeeper's boy says that you fellows suspected some sort of an attack,” the hobbit frowned, “can I ask what is going on exactly? And why haven't you called for us, Mr. Pippin?” Pippin made a noise that could have been a snort but he covered it quickly by coughing.  
  
“Well, we weren't altogether sure of anything,” Pippin said slowly, “just that there's been some odd folk around my cousin's home and we wondered if the trouble would follow us on.”  
  
“Trouble?” the hobbit frowned.  
  
“I sent word to the Bounders,” Frodo said, “as we suspected foreigners to be behind the disturbances.”  
  
“I was never in danger,” Pippin said smoothly.  
  
“That's not what the boy said,” the guard said gruffly.  
  
“Oh I think some fellows might have thought to rob me,” Pippin said slowly, “but I can hardly thing that-”  
  
“The boy said as it weren't no hobbits nor big person that attacked you. Said it was a creature with a foul strength. Like death. And it was set on dragging you off.” Beside him, Pippin stiffened and shot a glance toward the innkeeper's son. The boy was sitting, his face pail.  
  
“Oh,” Pippin said, “Well. As my cousin said. He's called for the Bounders.”  
  
“Bounders are all very well, but protection of your life is our duty. You should have called for us, sir.”  
  
“I am sorry,” Pippin said.  
  
“What do you know of these foreigners?”  
  
“Not much,” Frodo said quietly, “they’ve stalked me and my gardener and his family. But we’ve had little trouble otherwise.”  
  
“Never an attack like this?” The hobbit asked. Frodo shook his head slowly.  
  
“I don't understand why such a thing would attack and then be so easily driven off,” Pippin murmured.  
  
“If I had to make a guess,” the guard paused, “it sounds like you spotted something that didn't want to be seen. And that thing wanted you to disappear so you would not be able to tell what you saw. But it got interrupted.”  
  
“What can we do?” Frodo asked. The guard eyed him.  
  
“You don't need to do anything Mr. Baggins. We will guard the inn tonight. There will be enough hobbits on the look out that I don't expect any trouble. The fact that it ran off when confronted by a sixteen year old with a hayfork tells me we're dealing with a creature of subtly. No. It's waiting for it's prey to be out all alone.” His expression hardened, “Mind you don't give it the chance, sir.”  
  
“No,” Frodo said in a hushed voice.  
  
There was little more to do. After a while they went back to their room. As they passed windows, Frodo could spot lines of the Thain's Guard standing outside, their faces turned toward the night.  
  
“Well Pippin you've got a small army at your beck and call here. I think we'll be alright,” Frodo said gently as they returned to the room. Pippin scowled.  
  
“A small army! Those hobbits out there aren't soldiers. They're fellows who enjoy wearing sashes and marching in parades and playing about with arrows. They've some skill at arrows,” he allowed, “but they've never faced anything. I only take comfort in their numbers.” He sighed, “he's right about one thing, that creature wants it's victim alone. It won't attack a group. And it doesn't want witnesses.” Pippin sank onto the bed. The boy looked exhausted. Frodo went to the other side of the bed, about to suggest Pippin take his rest.  
  
“Mr. Pippin?” Sam sat on his bed facing the young hobbit. Pippin opened his eyes. “I'm sorry I weren't with you.”  
  
“It's alright, Sam,” Pippin said, “please don't be troubled.  
  
“I'm sorry it happened at all,” Frodo said, “I hate that it followed us here.” He sighed, “I only hope Merry and Fatty are alright.”  
  
“They'll be alright, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, “and so will we.” Frodo met his eyes and nodded. He turned to Pippin and smiled.  
  
“Let's take advantage of Pippin's little army and get some sleep. All of us, for a change.”  
  
“I'm all for that!” Pippin groaned and got in under the covers. Sam chuckled and got into his own bed.  
  
“Good night again,” Sam said as Frodo blow the candle out and slid into bed beside Pippin.  
  
“Good night both of you. Sleep well,” Frodo said. He was afraid he'd not be able to follow his own advice and get some rest, but he was so tired that he fell into sleep faster than he had in a long while.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Frodo awoke in the small hours of the morning, shivering. The blankets had been pulled away. Groggily, he reached out, and found a mound of covers where they were all wrapped around Pippin. Frodo tugged, trying to get a corner.  
  
“No!” came a sleep muddled cry. Frodo stopped his tugging.  
  
“Pippin. You've got all the blankets. Come on,” he pleaded in a whisper. There was no response. He doubted Pippin was even awake. Frodo sighed. He rose and made his way around the bed. He could see a little, from the very faint glow of coals in the fireplace, so he didn't stumble. He paused at the side of Sam's bed for a moment, then slid in under the blankets. This was much better.  
  
“Sir?” came a sleepy voice.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Frodo whispered, “didn't mean to wake you. You don't mind, do you Sam?”  
  
“Nay.”  
  
“I'm afraid Pippin isn't a very good bedfellow. He's taken all the blankets for himself,” Frodo said with a smile. Sam chuckled.  
  
“I'll try and be a bit better than that.”  
  
“Thank you.” And once again, Frodo slowly fell asleep again.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Dawn broke over Hobbiton as Hob Hatfield strolled down the lane. He was walking to his mother's shop when he spotted the new post hobbit.  
  
“Hob! Have you a moment?” he called.  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“I've a letter for that Big Person, the one with the cart out past Bywater,” the post hobbit winced, “would you happen to be going to see him today?”  
  
“I could I suppose,” Hob said, “you want me to carry the letter?”  
  
“Would you?” the young hobbit asked hopefully. Hob laughed.  
  
“You scared of him?”  
  
“Course I am,” the post hobbit said, shivering.  
  
“I'll take the letter,” Hob offered. The post hobbit handed it over and beat a hasty retreat, calling out his thanks. Hob chuckled. He hadn't been planning to go and see the conjurer, but he didn't mind it. And he could always buy another charm. A while later, he approached the old conjurer's cart and found the Big Person sitting on the other side, cooking his breakfast. They bid one after good morning and Hob sat down with him.  
  
“Did your Mr. Lotho find out anything for me?” the wizard asked after a time. Hob snorted.  
  
“He tried. He visited his cousin, but he couldn't do much snooping. Frodo was with him the whole time. Him or that Merry Brandybuck, that is.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“I told him he could try breaking in later, but that's chancy. Rumor is that old Frodo has his gardener staying up there, keeping a watch on things.”  
  
“His gardener?”  
  
“Sam Gamgee,” Hob nodded, “He's a piece of work. No,” Hob shook his head, “I don’t think Lotho will be able to find out what you want. We don’t even know what it is we’re supposed to be looking for.” The conjurer regarded him for a long moment in silence. “You really need to know this to do the job for my Lotho or are you just trying to dig up information on Frodo Baggins? I hear you been trying to ask folks about him.” The old wizard laughed and regarded Hob for a long moment, peering at him in a way that might have made other hobbits uncomfortable. Hob only stared back. You didn’t end up friends with Lotho Sackville-Baggins if you got intimidated by every calculating look.  
  
“Very well. It’s true,” the conjurer said, “You see, my master sent me to the Shire with instructions to listen out for strange rumors, especially rumors of magic.”  
  
“Magic? Here?”  
  
“Certain people have an interest in this place. An interest that doesn't all together make sense. Not unless there is more to your Shire than meets the eye.”  
  
“Can't say I know what your talking about there.”  
  
“No? I have heard a lot about the Baggines in the environs of Hobbiton-Overhill. Bagginses who have a wizard friend.”  
  
“Is that why you've come to Hobbiton?” Hob asked.  
  
“Yes. Is it true?”  
  
“Well, yes. Bilbo Baggins was friends with Gandalf the Wizard. They had some adventure together long ago. Or so I’ve heard. The old story is that he come back with a horde of gold and jewels. But Mr. Bilbo's been gone more than fifteen years now.”  
  
“But Gandalf still has business in this section, does he not?”  
  
“Well, he used to visit Frodo, that's true. But he hasn't shown his face here in years.”  
  
“It's still very interesting.”  
  
“Is it?”  
  
“Your friend Mr. Sackville-Baggins had some ideas about Gandalf's involvement with the Bagginses. Ideas about charms he's given them. Things he might have left with them.”  
  
“You can't take all of what Mr. Lotho says as true. Especially when it comes to Frodo Baggins.”  
  
“No? They are kin, are they not?”  
  
“Well yes, but Lotho and his mum have been eyeing Bag End for decades. Lotho is likely to say anything to discredit Frodo.”  
  
"Oh well," the conjuror said amiably. Hob hummed and stared out across the hills. “So, did you come for a charm?” the man asked. Hob sat up.  
  
“Oh! I forgot! I come out here to give you a letter. The post hobbit send me out here,” he said, drawing the letter out and handing it over. The Big Person took it and opened the little envelope. He read the letter, his expression growing uncharacteristically grim.  
  
"Bad news?" Hob asked. The man shook his head slowly.

“This changes a few things,” he said, “I think I can't wait on your Mr. Lotho. It seems I have competition.”  
  
“Competition?” Hob asked, “some other wizard coming to town?”  
  
“Not exactly. But it seems that I'm not the only one interested in Frodo Baggins.” 

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Fatty Bolger stepped out into the back garden and watched the dawn light spread across the sky, illuminating the rolling yellow tinged hills below. He heard the sound of a door opening and turned to see Merry stepping out the kitchen door, two steaming cups of tea in his hands. He nodded to Fatty and handed him a cup. The two remained silent, staring out across the countryside.

“What a lovely view to wake up to every morning,” Merry said at last. Fatty sipped his tea.

“I was so happy when old Bilbo brought Frodo here,” Fatty said quietly. “It’s exactly what he needed.” Merry nodded.

“I was too young to understand that at the time,” he laughed, “all I knew was that some mad uncle was taking my cousin away. I sulked for weeks.” Fatty chuckled. “But then Bilbo invited me to stay with them and gained my favor. Lots of pony rides and parties and sweets I wasn’t supposed to have.”

“Bilbo had no interest in making nice with other gentlehobbits," Fatty said quietly, "but he went to great lengths to make me and all of Frodo’s friends feel welcome at Bag End. He told me once he was terrified he’d brought Frodo out to some desolate corner of the Shire where he’d lose his friends and end up miserable,” Fatty laughed. “Poor Bilbo.”

“As if Frodo couldn’t make new friends,” Merry scoffed.

“As if he didn’t mean enough to his old friends that they wouldn’t visit,” Fatty added, then went on in a quieter voice, “It wasn’t just lack of friends Bilbo was worried about." Merry glances at Fatty in surprise.

“Lovers?” he asked quietly. Fatty nodded. “Then uncle Bilbo knew Frodo preferred lads?”

“Of course he did. Frodo is miserable at keeping secrets. At least keeping secrets from people who love him.”

“He never told Frodo.”

“Uncle Bilbo, as wonderful as he was, had no confidence in his parenting skills. He assumed he’d make a blunder of it. And he thought Frodo needed to work it out on his own in any case.”

“It’d have been better if he’d talked on it,” Merry said irritated at the old hobbit. He frowned. “How do you know all this?”

“I was a spy long before the Conspiracy,” Fatty laughed. "I heard Bilbo talking to my dad about it once. I hid and listened in."

“You? Hide?”

“Merry Brandybuck I am going to take a swing at you if you keep that up,” Fatty scolded him. “Anyway, the end result was that Frodo was invited to a lot of parties in Tookland and to the northern Bolger estates, where there’s a bit more... freedom.”

“Oh. I never knew that." 

“You were still pretty young.”

“Hm,” Merry nodded, “Well I’m glad then. Did Frodo have fun?” Fatty paused.

“I think so. Eventually. He learned a bit at any rate.”

"Oh yeah?" Merry murmured. Fatty nodded. It has been years ago, maybe a year before Bilbo left, when he'd been at a party at one of his Bolger cousins' estates out near Oatbarton. He'd felt someone slump against his side and turned to see a fairly tipsy Frodo clasp his arm.  
  
“Hullo Frodo,” he'd said, “having fun?”  
  
“Introduce me to those lads,” Frodo said and nodded to a small group of hobbits standing at the edge of the party out toward one of the darkened fields. Fatty had winced.  
  
“Erm. You sure?” he asked, “that's Hugo Bunce and his lot.” He turned to look down into Frodo's face. Frodo had stared back, his expression stubborn. “They've a reputation.” Frodo only raised his eyebrows.

“Alright!” He drew Frodo over to the little group and introduced him. They slid along easily in conversation for a time when Fatty began to get the distinct impression that Frodo wanted him to go away. Ever agreeable, he'd made some excuse and walked off. But he didn't much like the idea of leaving Frodo all alone with Bunce and his friends. There were rumors. And Frodo was tipsy. So he'd found a convenient tree and slipped behind it, listening out for any sign that he needed to return. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
“Take your hands off me if you please,” came Frodo's voice, chill. Fatty straightened.  
  
“Why? You came over here for a fuck didn't you?”  
  
“I'm sorry, but this is not what I was looking for,” Frodo said, temper in his voice.  
  
“Don't be like that. Come here my sweet lad,” Hugo's voice was forceful.  
  
“Stop that!” Frodo snarled. Fatty was up and bolting toward the group. He struck Hugo Bounce hard, sending him toppling back into the grass. His friends froze for a moment, their eyes wide. Fatty wasn't one to get upset often, but when he did, his anger tended to frighten people. The other lads ran, Hugo not far behind them. Fatty turned to see Frodo staring at him.  
  
“Er, Frodo?” he said, unsure, “alright?” Frodo took a breath and motioned him to follow, as he set off, stalking back along the outskirts of the party to another quiet corner. Fatty followed, feeling very uneasy. They walked into a small side garden, luckily deserted, and Frodo sat on a ironwork bench. The shrubs shielded them from the curious gazes that had followed the pair after the scuffle.  
  
“Frodo?” Fatty said slowly, “I'm sorry.” Even by torchlight he could see that Frodo's face was flushed. He looked up.  
  
“I'm not angry at you,” he said, “grateful, rather. But mostly I am terribly embarrassed.” Fatty sat down beside him.  
  
“There's no call for that,” he said quietly. Frodo laughed.  
  
“No?”  
  
“No,” Fatty assured him. Frodo sighed and put his face in his hands. They sat in silence for a long moment. “I know some other lads I could introduce you to,” Fatty said quietly. Frodo groaned. “Really. Nice lads. Lads who wouldn't try anything disrespectful.”  
  
“That's kind,” Frodo said at last, “but I think I've lost my nerve.”  
  
“Oh Frodo, you haven't. Give it a go.”  
  
“No,” Frodo sighed, “I think I'm done for tonight.”  
  
“Well. Alright,” Fatty said amiably, “want to stick with me, and have a drink? I don't think I've told you about my mother taking up golf have I?”  
  
“I'd have never thought that!” Frodo laughed, and Fatty was glad to see it, “your mother used to complain for hours anytime we went out play a round.”  
  
“She's started a league if you'd believe it,” Fatty said and rose, “come on, I'll get you something to drink and tell you all about it.” There was warmth in Frodo's expression.  
  
“Thank you. That sounds wonderful,” he said.  
  
Fatty came back to the present and finished his tea.

“At any rate,” he said, “that’s when I decided I’d not let my friendship with Frodo fade away. I want to do what I can to help him. And there’s not many hobbits I’d do that for.”

“I know,” Merry said, “Frodo’s like that.”

“It’s usually a wonderful trait. But with Frodo,” Fatty paused, “It’s dangerous too.” Merry nodded.

“Even so, I’m finding that I don’t care.” Fatty put a hand on Merry's shoulder as they stared out across the hills below.

"Our Frodo does get himself into messes, doesn't he?" Fatty sighed. Merry stiffened.

"Quiet," he warned in an undertone, "someone is coming up the hill." Fatty sucked in a breath and withdrew his hand, catching sight of a figure trudging up the lane.

"That's a Big Person."

"Mmhm," Merry's backbone straightened and he set his cup down, going out into the front lane. Fatty recognized the iron hardness of the Brandybucks and was amazing to see just how feriocious Merry looked suddenly.

"Good morning," Merry said as the man halted and squinted at him. He was unsettlingly large, Fatty thought, with strange red hair and eyes that made him shiver.

“I have heard tales that hobbits can mean a lot when they say good morning," the Big Person paused, "I think you mean rather more when you say good morning young hobbit."

"You favor directness? Well I can give that to you. What do you want, coming up this Hill?" Merry said rudely.

"I am here with a message for Frodo Baggins," the man said.

"He is indisposed," Merry growled.

"He's not here," the man corrected. Merry stayed silent.

"I have a business proposal for him. I seek a certain item or items in his possession, as well as information that he knows. I will of course compensate him for his troubles. But I do want to offer a gentle warning."  
  
"Oh?" Merry asked dangerously. The man nodded, taking no note of Merry's ire.  
  
“I’m not the only one interested in your Mr. Baggins. There are others, creatures of the dark that serve forces that are beyond the ken of your kind, who have become interested in the same rumors that brought me to Hobbiton. Maybe you know what I’m speaking of? At any rate, it is in your kinsmen's interest to make a deal with me. For those creatures are not here to make deals. And their powers grow as the moon shrinks and soon they will have the power to overcome your protections.” Fatty stared, frozen by the man's words. Protections? Did he mean the shutterbars and the like? He had a dim feeling that wasn't quite right.  
  
“And what pray are you and these creatures interested in?”  
  
“That is a discussion best had with Mr. Baggins,” the conjurer said smoothly. “But I would not put this off any longer. He is returning today, is he not? Have him meet me at the Three Farthing Stone. Before dark,” he added.  
  
“If you know Frodo is returning today then you know more than we do,” Fatty said suspiciously. The wizard laughed and Fatty felt a wave of Merry's ire focus on him.  
  
“Perhaps so,” he said, “in an act of good faith I'll tell you what I know. Maybe it will help you understand the situation a bit better,” he pause, “last night Mr. Took was attacked.”  
  
“What?” Merry gasped.  
  
“He lives. Or so I hear,” the man said slowly, “a creature came on him and was only dissuaded from dragging him off into the darkness by an innkeeper's son with a pitchfork.”  
  
“Hey Merry,” Fatty said in a low voice, “it's nonsense. Sam would have been on watch with him and Sam wouldn't have stood by and let Pippin get attacked.”  
  
“Samwise Gamgee?” the man said, “he was incapacitated. Or so my informant tells me. Had a draw from the Proprietor's pipe and it didn't agree with him. Low tolerance for that sort of thing.”  
  
"How do you-"  
  
"Suffice it to say I have my ways," the man said, "I have said all that I intend to say until I meet with Mr. Baggins. Good morning." Merry stared after him, watching the Big Person amble back down the hill.  
  
"Deeper and darker," Merry said softly, "oh Frodo, what have you got yourself into?"  
  
"Did you hear that about protections?" Fatty asked quietly. Merry nodded. "Wonder what he meant."  
  
"I intend to find out," Merry said. They met one another's eyes and Fatty saw a grimness that he'd only seen flashes of before in Merry's expression, "It may be our only chance."

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Hob walked beside the conjurer, having caught up to him just past the bend from Bag Shot row. He'd tagged along out of curiosity, and because he thought Lotho would like to know what the wizard was up to.  
  
"How did it go?" he asked. The man was quiet for a moment.  
  
"They got the message, I think," he paused, “They looked very frightened when I said Mr. Took has been attacked, understandably, but they also looked almost as frightened when I said that Samwise Gamgee had been incapacitated. Why is that?” Hob pondered.  
  
“Probably because Sam is the muscle of the group. And those lads think Sam can do anything,” he laughed. The wizard regarded him silently.  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“I mean, not that old Sam can't usually get things done one way or another. And Sam does a lot. I hear tell it's not just that garden he keeps tidy up on the Hill.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Oh,” Hob laughed, “sorry. That's really just rumors. There's some say Frodo Baggins is sweet on Sam, or maybe it's the other way round. I've never seen no proof of that, mind. I think folk just saw how hot the Gamgees get when folk speak ill of the Bagginses and they made up a little scandal. That and Frodo Baggins hasn't ever courted a girl since he come to live here. Not that anyone knows of anyways.”  
  
“But there is perhaps some love between Frodo Baggins and the gardener?”  
  
“Well. Yes. I'd say so,” Hob said. The wizard sat still pondering this new information.  
  
“That is very interesting.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Sam, Frodo and Pippin sat down to breakfast in the cheerful common room. Sam drank his tea, keeping quiet as he watched Frodo and Pippin talk. He felt nearly back to normal, but there was still a slight haze around the edges of his mind, and he had a feeling he was more relaxed than he would have been, had he not taken a draw from the pipe.  
  
"The Thain Guard left early this morning I see," Frodo commented. Pippin nodded.  
  
“I had to promise them that I would set out for Tookbank from here,” he said.  
  
“You're going home, Mr. Pippin?” Sam asked. Pippin sent him a smile and shook his head. Frodo snorted.  
  
“They will notice when you don't turn up,” he said.  
  
“And father will make them leave me alone,” Pippin said, then paused, “at least, he might. As long as they don't tell him all the details of what happened last night.” He pondered this, then shrugged, “even if they do. I don't care.”  
  
"Cheek," Frodo snorted at him.  
  
"I'm a Took. It's expected," Pippin said, "besides. I'm not leaving you." Frodo's expression warmed.  
  
"Thank you, Pippin," he said. They finished breakfast and Frodo went to settle their bill. Sam and Pippin strolled out to the cart, loading their belongs up for the home trip.  
  
"Mr. Pippin?" Sam asked quietly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Those guards from last night, you don't think it would have been a good idea to have those chaps help keep watch at Bag End, were they willing?” Sam asked. Pippin paused and considered him, frowning a little.  
  
“They're willing. But like I said, they're not soldiers. They're not even Bounders,” Pippin shook his head and stepped closer, dropping his voice, “and besides. Merry has warned me off doing anything that would draw attention to Bag End.” He gave Sam a serious look, “I think stationing a legion of Tooks ready to shoot at anything that moves would qualify as drawing attention.” Sam laughed but Pippin only grew grimmer. “Putting guards around Bag End only makes it look more like Frodo is hiding something valuable.”  
  
“Valuable?” Sam whispered. Pippin flicked his gaze up to Sam.  
  
“I don't know all the details,” he cautioned, “but yes... I think Merry thinks there's something valuable in Bag End. Maybe something that belonged to Uncle Bilbo.” Sam frowned.  
  
“Folks always talk about there being jewels and foreign things Mr. Bilbo brought back.” Pippin nodded thoughtfully.  
  
“Don't tell Merry I told you that. He'd smack me,” he said. Sam rolled his eyes.  
  
“Well then you just tell Mr. Merry we're in this Conspiracy together. And if he tries to smack you he'll have to go through me.” Pippin beamed.  
  
“Thank you Sam,” he said.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
They jumped and turned to see Frodo watching them. He laughed at their expressions.  
  
"Don't sneak up on a hobbit like that!" Pippin cried. Frodo snorted.  
  
"You two are so jumpy this morning. Come on! We're alright," he said. Pippin stiffened.  
  
"Oh, I forgot, I wanted to say goodbye to the innkeeper's boy and thank him again," the young hobbit said, "Sorry. I'll be right back." Frodo nodded and climbed up into the cart.  
  
"Fine. Make it quick though," he called. Sam climbed up after Frodo and settled on the little bench in front. They watched hobbits mill about in the lane for a few minutes, enjoying the morning breeze.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Yes Sam?”  
  
“I wanted to thank you,” Sam said slowly, “for last night. Being so kind to me. There's not many hobbits would have done that.” Frodo stilled.  
  
“No?” he asked. Sam thought he saw a flicker of disquiet in Frodo's expression. He took a breath.  
  
“It was so nice of you.”  
  
“Ah,” Frodo nodded and dropped his gaze. _Oh_ , Sam thought, _is he shy about that sort of thing?_ He'd never thought of Frodo as being shy. Reserved maybe, but not shy. Whatever he thought he'd seen in Frodo's expression vanished as he raised his face once more and he brightened. “Are you feeling alright now?”  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“I'm very glad to hear that.”  
  
A hobbit hurried down the lane, running up to the inn and darted inside. Frodo and Sam watched him with mild curiosity.  
  
"Wonder where he's off to in such a hurry," Sam murmured.  
  
"Hm. City people," Frodo mused. The hobbit darted back out of the inn, and he stood searching the crowds. He turned and spotted their cart and let out an exclamation.  
  
"Mr. Baggins?" he called. Frodo sat up.  
  
"At your service. Who may you be?" he said. The hobbit drew closer to the side of the cart. He snatched his cap off. He was a big broad shouldered hobbit with somewhat shabby clothes, Sam noted. His eyes traveled to the cap the hobbit clutched. There was a hawk feather laced into the band. An East Farthing Bounder, then. Sam felt a little of his mistrust melt.  
  
"I beg your pardon Mr. Baggins. My name is Gil Hanseed. I'm a Bounder. The Bounder assigned to your case, in fact. I heard you were staying in town and so I come on."  
  
"Oh?" Frodo said. The hobbit cast a glance at Sam.  
  
"Can we speak in private, Mr. Baggins?" he asked.  
  
"You can speak in front of Sam. Sam knows all about the disturbances," Frodo said. The Bounder shook his head.  
  
"I'm sorry sir. We Bounders have a policy." Frodo snorted, clearly irritated.  
  
"Go on, sir," Sam said quietly. Frodo paused only a moment more.  
  
"Fine," he said and climbed down from the cart. Together they went back into the inn, disappearing from view. Sam sat very still and watched the entrance. _Finally_ , he thought, _a bit of help._

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Frodo followed the Bounder into the common room and asked the innkeeper for a private room. The innkeeper took them into the tavern's snug and closed the doors behind them. Frodo made a note to leave a few more coins for the innkeeper. He and his family really had gone out of their way for him. He sat down in the padded seat across from the Bounder and peered at the hobbit.  
  
“I am sorry we haven't been able to send someone out to you,” the Bounder said. Frodo nodded.  
  
“I know you are busy these days.”  
  
“That we are,” the Bounder said, looking grim, “but we took your letter very seriously.”  
  
“I don't doubt it,” Frodo said politely.  
  
“No, sir, you don't understand. We took it very seriously. Those creatures broke our defenses. And not just our defenses,” the Bounder frowned and eyed Frodo. Frodo blinked, sitting up a little straighter. “Have  
you heard tell of the Watchers, sir?”  
  
“Watchers?” he frowned pondering. “Yes,” he said slowly, “The men that are supposed to wander the wilds?” Frodo had heard a few dim tales of Watchers talked on. They were rangers who mostly kept to themselves but there was some mischief about them. There were whispers that they served some secret master. Hobbit travelers from Bree had dark words on such folk.  
  
“There's not many as know of them,” the Bounder said, looking impressed, “do you know that the Watchers guard the Shire? Like us Bounders. Only they do it from the other side of the Bounds.”  
  
“I hadn't heard that. Whatever for?”  
  
“Now that I can't say,” the Bounder paused, “all we know is there are more of them than there used to be.”  
  
“Recently?”  
  
“Not too recent. Maybe fifteen or sixteen years ago, when I started beating the bounds. The old fellows would tell me they were lucky to ever see a Watcher once per decade or so. But since I started I’ve met scores of them.”  
  
_Fifteen or sixteen years?_ Frodo pondered this. _About when Bilbo left._ He shivered, wondering if the old hobbit had got out just in time.  
  
“I don't understand,” Frodo said, “why have we not had word of this?”  
  
“Oh, that's easy,” the Bounder laughed, “hobbits once knew of their work, but I dare say most have forgotten, or decided it's a fairy tale. The Big People stay pretty far out, so it's only a few Bounders that meet them. Most of those, don't much like the idea of Big People interfering, and they don't want to share any credit. So they keep mum.”  
  
“And the others?”  
  
“The others see that the Big People are doing us a very good turn. They can keep back more things than we have any idea of I'm sure. We're grateful.”  
  
“It still seems amazing that such a thing isn't more widely known.”  
  
“Oh, there's some as know. The Thain and Mayor and such. But they're not going to go talking on it. It just seems best not to. Plus, it would upset some.”  
  
“Would it?”  
  
“Mr. Frodo.” the Bounder said gently. Frodo thought on his words. Hobbits were suspicious and disliked meddling Big People in most cases. Even their old amiability for Gandalf and his fireworks had dimmed since Bilbo's party. Now if he was spoken on, it wasn't fondly. No. Hobbits wouldn't like the idea of being surrounded by Big People. “There's been more creatures approaching the Shire. More each month," the Bounder continued, "At first, we thought the creatures was just following the folks making their way west. But a month ago, I had words with a Watcher and he told me that there has been attempts on all sides. We Bounders have seen that too, now, though we mostly only see the weaker things that slip past the Watchers while they are busy. He lifted his gaze to meet Frodo's eyes, “I'm sorry Mr. Baggins. I ought not burden you with all this. But I just want you to understand. These creatures in Hobbiton, I think they're the type of thing that the watchers are the most concerned with.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“That's why I went to those men. I told them what you had writ in your letter.”  
  
“You told Big People, ruffians, my name and my business?” Frodo asked, alarmed. The Bounder looked unhappy. “I'm sorry. You told me all you did so that I would understand why you went to them, didn't you?”  
  
“That's right.”  
  
“And these Watchers, you Bounders trust them?”  
  
“Well,” the Bounder said slowly, “you must understand, the Watchers are unsettling and look more like wild men than anything else. You will find Bounders with very hard words for them, if you can get words on them at all.” He paused, “but, trust them? I can only speak for the one or two that I've shared a camp with. Yes. I trust them. They are rough, but their hearts are good. And there is something of strange quality in them. I can't rightly say what it is. Whatever it is, it lets them fight against the worst things of the night.”  
  
“And what advice did the Watchers have?”  
  
“Well. The fellow I spoke with was very concerned. He didn’t tell me his plans but I think he wanted to get help from other Watchers. And he gave me a message for you: stay quiet and stay hidden.” Frodo shivered. There was an odd echo with some words of warning that Gandalf had given him years ago.  
  
"Hidden?" he laughed, "I'm not sure how to do that. My home is well known. And even when I came here trouble followed me. I thought I didn't make a spectacle of myself, but you found me here. And so did the creatures," he took a breath, "they almost dragged my cousin off."  
  
"I'm very sorry to hear that," Hanseed said.  
  
"What should I do?" Frodo asked and he could hear the worry in his own voice.  
  
"Try and hold out a bit longer. There's not much I can do on my own. I'm to meet with the Watchers again in thee days. I'll bring them to the Hill an we'll see what can be done then."  
  
"Three days," Frodo breathed.  
  
"Can you hold out till then?" the Bounder asked, "you said in your letter you had friends who were helping to keep a look out."  
  
"I do," Frodo said. The Bounder nodded.  
  
"Stay strong against all this, Mr. Frodo. The creatures want you to fall to pieces. Fear and isolation- those are their tools. Don't give into it."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"Good."

They bid one another goodbye and Frodo walked back out into the sunlight, blinking and made his way to the cart. Sam and Pippin were sitting on the front bench. At his appearance, Pippin rose and jumped into the back of the cart, making room. Frodo climbed up.  
  
"Is the Bounder going to help?" Pippin asked. Frodo nodded.  
  
"He needs a bit more time. Three days and he's going to bring some folk out to Bag End."  
  
"Three days?" Sam asked frowning.  
  
"The ones he's bringing aren't exactly close. They'll need time."  
  
"Oh," Sam murmured. He straightened, "Ready?"  
  
"Yes. I'll drive," Frodo offered, taking the reigns. "There is one last stop I'd like to make before we leave town."  
  
A short time later, Frodo guided the cart into a small brick lane, passing two tall stone gate posts, and suspended between them was a wooden sign reading, "West Farthing Arboretum". Sam gazed up at it, mouthing the words. Frodo felt a smile, but didn't say anything. They went down the little lane until they came to the entrance. Frodo parked the cart in an out of the way place and set the reigns down.  
  
"Where are we?" Pippin asked sticking his head up, peering at the stone walls of the garden keeper's house.  
  
"This," Frodo said, "is the Farthing Arboretum." He met Sam's eyes, "you haven't been before, have you, Sam?" Sam's eyes widened and he shook his head, deep surprise rooted in his expression. "Would you like to see the gardens?" he laughed a little, "I know, you must get enough of gardens every day."  
  
"Oh sir, I'd love to see them," Sam said, his face filling with joy, his eyes bright. Frodo grinned and turned to Pippin.  
  
“Shall we then?”  
  
“You two go ahead,” Pippin said, “I'm tired out still. I'll stay with Thorin."  
  
“You alright?” Frodo asked, peering into the back of the cart.  
  
“Fine,” Pippin said and closed his eyes, “besides, I've seen gardens.”  
  
“Alright,” Frodo said, "we won't be too long," he cast an apologetic look at Sam, "I'm afraid we can't spend much time. What with the trip back home." Sam's expression remained delighted.  
  
"That's fine, sir."  
  
The gardens were formal, paths running in straight lines, forking off from one another, and the beds were planted in precise rows and patterns. Each bed was bursting with flowers and brightly colored leaves. Frodo didn't know many of the names, but he recognized a few of the late season flowers- mums, pansy, aster, and the like. Because of Bilbo and because of Sam he had acquired an appreciation for plants that he wouldn't have otherwise had. Sam walked beside him, his expression lost in deep delight.  
  
"I've never seen so many plants; all perfect and planted in swirls like this. Why, they've used plants to make pictures. I'd have never thought of that," Sam breathed in wonder. Frodo smiled.  
  
"This is nice, but you should see it in springtime. That's when this place becomes a jewel of the Shire." Sam sighed in contentment.  
  
"I'll bet," he murmured. Frodo led them down one of the paths so that they passed through tall towering stalks of sunflowers and decorative flowering trees. A slight breeze passed through the plants, making them bob lazily.  
  
"Do you see anything you like?" Sam asked and his voice was high in excitement and happiness as they strolled. Frodo smiled. Sam was at ease now, an ease that he only showed when it was just the two of them off in a quiet place together.  
  
"I see all sorts of things," Frodo said, very amused. Sam giggled and Frodo had to stop himself from joining in. He'd never seen Sam so happy.  
  
"Point out the ones you like best. I'll grow them for you next year."  
  
"Thank you," Frodo said, smiling. "Let's sit a moment, it's lovely here." Sam followed him and they sat on a small bench, shaded by an oak. The rustle of the leaves around them, the autumn sunlight dappling down on the flowers, the soft sound of birds up in the tree above, all worked to sooth him.  
  
He had needed this. All the fear and tension and pain from past days had gripped him and now, just for a brief space out of time, he could sit in a garden with Sam and laugh in the sunlight and forget his troubles. Sam turned to him, and as if sensing his thoughts, his eyes brightened.  
  
"I'm ever so grateful," Sam said quietly, "why I'd never thought you'd take time out of your important trip to the city to show me such a place. You don't know what it means to me."  
  
"I'm very glad to do it," Frodo said. “I'm only sorry I waited this long to bring you here.” Sam blinked, confusion in his eyes, but he smiled. Frodo felt a touch of heat in his cheeks. He went on, “If I'd known bringing you here would make you this happy I'd have done it. Just for that.” Sam's eyes widened. _Oh worse,_ Frodo thought, and the heat deepened in his cheeks. A flash of those old tweenage feelings rushed up- awkwardness, and doubt in himself, and just a touch of something warm that sent his heart pounding. 'I'm sorry Sam. I'm talking nonsense, aren't I?”  
  
“No,” Sam said quietly. He took a breath, his gaze dropping to the bench beneath them, “if there were something I could do to make you happy, then I'd do it too.” Sam was blushing now, and Frodo thought how charming he was.  
  
“In this moment, I am very happy,” Frodo sighed. Sam met his eyes then. They held one another's gaze for a momet, until Sam's blush deepened and he looked away, shy suddenly. Frodo watched him bend and pick up a seed pod. He studied it, his shyness replaced by fascination as he turned the little pod over in his hands. Peace washed over Frodo's senses. He closed his eyes and sank into contentment.  
  
“I had a letter this morning from Brumby,” Frodo said after a time. He opened his eyes to see Sam glance up, blinking.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“He had an interesting proposal,” Frodo said slowly, “you see, he was very impressed by you.”  
  
“Me?” Sam turned his head, “I don't think so, sir, begging your pardon. Seemed mighty unfriendly toward me.”  
  
“Maybe at first but he warmed to you. The truth of it is that he wrote to ask me if I would consider releasing you from my employ. He offered me a very handsome sum for it.”  
  
“What?” Sam squeaked. Frodo glanced up and chuckled.  
  
“I declined his offer,” he said quickly.  
  
“Thank you sir!” Sam gasped.  
  
“I thought that might be your reaction,” Frodo said, “though, if you really do want to go and be his smial manager...”  
  
“No!” Sam sat up, looking indignant. Frodo laughed.  
  
“Alright! I just wanted to make sure I wasn't dashing some dream of yours.”  
  
“That's no dream of mine and you know it!” Sam sputtered. Frodo smiled.  
  
“You want to stay my gardener?” he asked.  
  
“Always,” Sam said. Frodo felt an unexpected flush of pleasure at those words.  
  
They stayed on a while longer, but at last they worked their way back to the entrance. Frodo promised to bring Sam in the springtime and watched as Sam's expression brightened into shy delight. Frodo left a few coins for the garden keeper and they climbed back up into the cart. Sam offered to drive and soon they were back on the road, leaving Michel Delving behind.  
  
Pippin had said very little when they returned and even now he was curled up in the back, quiet and drowsy. Frodo cast a worried look back at him. Gingerly, he stood, holding onto the cart frame and stepped into the back, crawling over to Pippin. His cousin blinked at him.  
  
“Pippin?” Frodo asked, “you've been very quiet. Are you really alright?” Pippin closed his eyes and shook his head.  
  
“Not really. Tired, like I said, but more than that, chilled. Can’t get warm.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Frodo said and leaned close putting a hand to Pippin's forehead.  
  
“I’m not feverish. Just cold,” Pippin said and sent him an entreating look, “sit with me?”  
  
“Alright,” Frodo said and slide closer, slipping under the blanket with him. Pippin wasn’t kidding- Frodo could feel him shivering as he pressed close. Pippin slipped his hands under the back of Frodo’s shirt to warm them on his skin. Frodo flinched at the cold touch but didn’t complain. Instead he put his arms around Pippin and rubbed his shoulders. “You said you were cold last night too. Have you been freezing like this since then? You should have said so!”  
  
“Ah Frodo,” Pippin said looking sheepish, “I didn't want to worry anyone and I thought it would fade. It has some but it’s still uncomfortable.”  
  
“Pip,” Frodo sighed. Pippin tucked his face into the hollow at Frodo’s neck.  
  
“Ugh. I wonder what that thing did to me,” Pippin sniffed.  
  
“Whatever it did, you're alright now,” Frodo said soothingly, “you’re safe.” He felt Pippin give a sigh and burrow closer. “When we get back to Bag End I'll build you a fire,” Frodo said slowly, “A roaring fire. And you can sit in front of it with as many blankets as you like. I've got that one wonderful wool blanket that the dwarves gave Bilbo. And I'll make you drinking chocolate. With brandy.”  
  
“I love you, Frodo,” Pippin murmured. Frodo laughed.  
  
“I love you too,” he said. As the minutes passed Frodo felt a drowsiness come over him. Pippin 's eyes were closed and he leaned heavily into Frodo, probably asleep. _Poor boy,_ Frodo thought. He closed his eyes and let the motion of the cart rock him into a doze.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Sam eased his attention from the road and let his mind wander a bit. Thorin knew the roads now and needed little direction. He turned, gazing back into the cart. Frodo and Pippin had fallen asleep at some point past Waymeet. They were huddled together under that blanket still, rocking with the motion of the cart. Sam let his attention focus onto Frodo, and his relaxed features as he slept.  
  
_How curious,_ he thought, the warmth filling him once more, his heart picking up. Sam didn’t push it away this time, but pondered the feeling. It was only natural he supposed, What with him spending so much time with Frodo of late. And not just spending time with him, but working with him, delving into long conversations, and sharing fears and danger. And then there was Frodo's kindness to him. Holding him last night, and then taking him to the gardens. And all the tenderness that had passed between them these past days.  
  
And he had always thought Frodo handsome. Sam let himself remember Frodo's face, close to his own as they sat together huddled on the little couch in the inn room last night, warm and pressed together. Frodo's features had been lit by the glow of candle light and his eyes caught the light from the fireplace. There had been something very alluring about looking up into his face, and feeling the sturdy young hobbit hold him so close. Sam took a breath, feeling flushed for a moment. He shook himself and turned back to the front of the cart, watching the pony.  
  
He didn't try to banish the feelings. Instead, he lingered on them all, enjoying the sweet ache of warmth twined with love. He would be content with that. Frodo would never return any such feeling and he'd never try and change things between them. But he could still let himself feel those things. Those feelings were a part of the love he had for Frodo, and Sam decided that was alright.

A few hours later, they were riding along at a good pace, almost home Sam reckoned, when there was a crack at the side of the cart. Sam gasped and drew the reins up to slow the pony. Frodo and Pippin were jolted out of thier nap. Frodo looked over wildly at him and there was another crack.  
  
“Rocks Sam!” Frodo cried, and Sam stared. How had they kicked up rocks to hit the side of the cart? He tugged the reins harder and the pony began to slow to a stop. Frodo leaned out to look out the side and shouted,  
  
“Here you rascals! What do you mean by throwing rocks at my cart?” Sam turned to see a group of several children standing at the roadside, some already turning to run.  
  
“Hey now!” Frodo shouted angrily, “Bean Brockhouse do you want me to speak to your mother about this?” Sam decided he had had enough and jumped from the cart, which had now slowed to a crawl. At his appearance the boys bolted, but Sam could run quicker than them, and caught Bean and one of his friends, Milo by their ears.  
  
“You youngsters come here and apologize to the master,” Sam growled at them.  
  
“We didn’t do it!” Milo wailed.  
  
“Leave off Sam!” Bean said as he struggled. Frodo stepped down off the cart and watched the boys with narrowed eyes.  
  
“That’s  _Mr. Sam_ to you young Bean,” he said through clenched teeth, “Now lads I like a joke as much as the next hobbit, but this one could have hurt someone. You startle a pony and you could turn a cart over.” They murmured "ayesir" and cast their eyes down.  
  
“You’ve more sense than that,” Sam said to them, “I know the both of you have.”  
  
“We were only watching for the cart,” Milo said looking up, “and we thought to have a little fun and shout things, because of all the talk about Mad B-” he cut off and looked up in horror at Frodo, then quickly continued, “about the master, but it was Tom Brownfoot and his lot as threw the rocks sir, honest.”  
  
“Tom Brownfoot?” Frodo asked, “I don’t know him.”  
  
“The Brownfoots are farmers as live off the road to Brockenborings,” Sam said, “They come down to market in Hobbiton every month or so. I can have a word with his uncle next time I see him."  
  
“Yes, I think that would do,” Frodo said quietly, staring off over the horizon. There was a pause and Sam turned away, feeling worried at Frodo’s expression. He focused on the boys in front of him.  
  
“And you lads, if I ever heard of any trouble like this from the pair of you I’ll take you by the ears and march you home and have a talking to your mams. Do you hear?”  
  
“Yes sir,” the boys said, looking properly remorseful now. Sam snorted at them.  
  
“Get gone then. You’ve taken up too much of the master’s time.” With no more encouraging the boys fled and Sam turned back to Frodo. “Sir?” he asked hesitantly after a moment.  
  
“I wonder…” Frodo said, his gaze slowly coming back, “Do you think there could be trouble in town too?”  
  
“Why?” Sam demanded, a little sharply and revised his tone, “I don’t see why there should be, sir, t’was just some lads playing tricks. The Brownfoots never were my favorite family and they’ve just shown their quality. That’s all.” Frodo gave him and faint smile and went back to the cart. Sam turned and caught Pippin giving him a worried look.  
  
“Yes, of course,” Frodo said but he didn't sound convinced.  
  
"Do you want to skip going to market? I can come later," Sam said.  
  
"No. We're right here. And my larder needs refilling for some reason," he eyed Pippin, "besides, those orders I put in before we left will be ready."  
  
"Alright then."

They entered town and found that the markets were still going strong, despite the fact that it was nearing mid-afternoon. Sam halted the cart and hopped down to tie up the pony, while Frodo climbed down from the passenger side. Pippin pulled the blanket up around him and closed his eyes, he murmured something about watching the pony and Sam left him to it. He jogged a little to catch up with Frodo, who had walked aimlessly down the street a little ways, and Sam watched as he began to browse the nearest stall, a fruit stall. An old gammer sat behind the low table, knitting and peering up at Frodo curiously. Her eyes moved over him for almost a minute and Sam was beginning to feel a scowl spread across his face when the gammer spoke.  
  
“Are you Mr. Baggins?” she asked. Frodo looked up in surprise.  
  
“Yes Madame. Frodo Baggins at your service,” he said. She set her mouth and frowned.  
  
“I ‘ent got anything to sell,” she said.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Frodo said staring.  
  
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said and stood up, only coming up to Frodo’s chest, but still she stared up at him, defiantly, “I ‘ent got anything for sale.” Frodo still looked honestly bewildered by her statement, but Sam knew what the old gammer was about. She had gone and listened to the talk, the same talk that the boys had listened to, and this gammer being a stranger to Hobbiton wouldn’t know any better than to listen to it. Something new was happening, Sam realized with a stroke of dread. People might not have liked the strange Masters of Bag End, but that dislike had never extended to their money before.  
  
“Is there…” Frodo started, still confused, “Is there some problem?”  
  
“Nay sir,” the gammer said, and Sam recognized a rising pitch of peak in her voice. He walked quickly to the stall, stepping up beside Frodo.  
  
“Beg your pardon Madam Hillbough,” he said and touched his cap quickly, “If you object to selling to my master then perhaps you’ll sell to me.” He heard Frodo gasp softly beside him. The gammer stared at Sam and opened her mouth, silent for a moment, then nodded quickly. But Frodo stepped back, staring at the old woman.  
  
“No, that’s quite alright. I don’t believe we need fruit today,” he said in a quiet even tone and turned away. Sam followed him, catching him up. Frodo walked with his eyes cast down, his cheeks red.  
  
“What’s happening Sam?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Trouble,” Sam sighed, “Trouble while we were gone. Drat it all.”  
  
“Lotho was true to his word, wasn't he?” Frodo said worriedly, “and he hasn't been idle.”  
  
“It’s just the country folk, sir,” Sam pleaded, “they don’t know you like we do.” Frodo cast a pained look at him and Sam shut his mouth, wincing at that look.  
  
“I’ve only ever tried-” Frodo broke off. The strain may not have shown to most hobbit's eyes but Sam saw just how this had cracked Frodo's hard resolve and what a strain it was putting on him. He knew he had to get Frodo out of the public common.  
  
“Sir, come follow me,” Sam said in an undertone, and set off. Frodo followed after him, head bowed. Together they walked around behind the butcher shop, one of the few timber frame and brick clad buildings in Hobbiton. Behind the shop was a quiet lane, hidden from view by a stone wall and the rising slope of a hill.  
  
They came to a halt in the shade of the lane, and Frodo sat on stack of crates, head still bowed. Sam thanked his stars that no one was about. He sat on the ground by Frodo's feet and gazed up at him.  
  
“I just don’t know what to do anymore, Sam,” he said softly. “Lotho won’t be satisfied until Bag End is his. Maybe I should just give it to him. It’d stop all this trouble. I could even make him leave the row folk alone.”  
  
“Oh Mr. Frodo,” Sam said gently, “don’t do that.” Frodo stared at him for a long moment.  
  
“Why not?” he asked, his voice pitched low. Sam stared at him, suddenly quiet. He cursed himself for saying anything. It wasn't his place to go telling Frodo Baggins what to do with his property. Frodo watched him a moment more, then flicked his gaze away “I've thought of going away, for some time, you know.” Sam felt a flash of pain.  
  
“Have you?” he asked, proud that his voice didn't crack.  
  
“Yes. Retiring, as it were,” he said.  
  
“And you'd want to retire somewhere else? Leave the West Farthing?” Sam asked. Frodo nodded.  
  
“Part of me can't stand the idea of leaving this place. It's so dear to me. But I don't see myself living here much longer." Pain seized Sam, but even in his pain he recognized that Frodo needed to hear words of comfort. His mouth worked, trying to call up those words that usually sprang into his mouth so easily. "And maybe I could see Bilbo again," Frodo said quietly.   
  
“You must do what will make you happy, sir. My old dad always says it's a waste of a life to live in unhappiness,” Sam said finally. Frodo watched him for another moment and Sam took another breath and dropped his eyes. Frodo sat back and considered his words carefully. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, though Sam had seen no tears. Frodo smiled down at him, his expression far more collected than it had been just a moment before.  
  
“It would be a shame to give up Bag End to Lotho, wouldn't it?” Sam smiled faintly at him.  
  
“It would be. The place has so many good memories in it,” he said. “That Sackville-Baggins would just foul it up,” then a little sheepishly Sam murmured, “begging your pardon.” Frodo smiled softly.  
  
“And I hate to think what your father would say about having Lotho and Lobelia for neighbors.”  
  
"True," Sam said. He rose. “I’ll finish up the shopping if you like,” he said, “I don’t see that you being out here to stir them up is helpful in any way."  
  
"I'm sorry," Frodo said quietly.  
  
"It's not any trouble," Sam replied and paused, looking out over the road, worried, “You could take the cart back." Frodo frowned.  
  
“You’ll need it for the food stuffs,” he said, "I put in orders for enough food to feed five hobbits for a week. You can't carry that."  
  
“Aye but, you’d be walking back and…” Sam trailed off looking uncomfortable. Frodo shook his head. "I could get some help easy enough."  
  
"There's no use in it. And we'll be fine. Pippin will be with me and it won't be dark for hours," he said. Sam remained painfully silent. Frodo let out a sigh. "It's not creatures your worried about is it? It's hobbits."  
  
"Sir," Sam said softly, "let me drive you back."  
  
"No," Frodo said iron in his voice now, "I refuse to be afraid of my neighbors." He broke off, his expression cracking again, "If I have to be afraid of my neighbors, then I really must leave this place. Sooner the better."  
  
Sam thought Frodo could see the dismay and pain in his face but the young master didn’t do anything to ease it. He probably felt too miserable himself. “I’ll see you in a few hours Sam,” he said quietly and took his leave. Sam sighed and turned back, resigning himself to an unpleasant hour of gossip and stares. He glanced over his shoulder and watched Frodo disappear.  
  
There had been grief in Frodo's eyes. Grief he hadn't seen since Frodo came outside that first morning after his coming of age party and told Sam that Bilbo had gone for good. Sam's father had broken the news to him, that Bilbo had gone away, but somehow Sam hadn't really believed it. He'd thought somehow that Bilbo was only off on another adventure. He hadn't thought it possible that the old Master could really leave for good, and what was more, leave Frodo behind.  
  
But Frodo's eyes that morning had told the true tale as he explained Sam in faltering words that Bilbo was gone. Sam had crumbled at the news and to his deep shame he'd cried, choking as he tried to excuse himself. But Frodo had stepped close and pulled him into an embrace. Sam had felt even worse then. It was Frodo who had the right to cry, but here he was comforting his gardener instead.  
  
“He left because he had to,” Frodo had said gently.  
  
“I don't understand,” Sam sniffed, clutching tight to Frodo. He felt a hand rubbing his back.  
  
“No,” Frodo said softly, “I'm not sure that I do either.”

Frodo had passed through enough grief for one hobbit. It was cruel that Hobbiton might press more grief on him, Sam thought. He closed his eyes and sighed. He had never understood his neighbor’s suspicion of the Bagginses; from the time that he had been old enough to notice, it had troubled him.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo is a might different from the rest of us, but that’s to be expected,” his Gaffer had told a young Sam by the fire one night, “He’s seen and done things and been places. That changes a hobbit. But Mr. Bilbo come through it alright, if you ask me. He’s always ever been kind and polite, especially to the hobbits without much food on their tables. I say he’s a far better hobbit than those as smile and drink his ale and eat his food at parties and then turn and talk ill on him behind his back. That shows the quality of a hobbit, Sam-lad.”  
  
“Is that why they say Master Frodo is odd too? Has he been places and done things?” Sam had asked then, staring up at his father. The Gaffer regarded him, frowning.  
  
“Master Frodo is a polite young lad even if he is a Brandybuck.” And that was all the Gaffer would say.  
  
Just why did everything have to be so difficult for Frodo? Why did it take so long for the people of Hobbiton to trust him? The Gaffer had come around after a few years, so why couldn’t everyone else?  
  
_They don’t know him the way I do,_ Sam thought glumly, _they don’t love him._  
  
And everything always came back to that.


	11. Darkness Closing In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading.

Frodo walked with Pippin in silence through the town center. No one called out a greeting to him and no one met his eyes. Frodo felt his misery deepen. He should have come into town before this. He would have to say something to these people. Reluctantly, he began to plan a party for the town, some way to gather everyone together and talk to them about what was happening. Lots of food and drink, he thought. That usually got everyone in a better mood. And maybe it was true, what Sam said, the town hobbits knew him better. They wouldn't be as set against him as that old woman at the fruit stand.  
  
_Bilbo would have dealt with this days ago,_ Frodo thought, _he'd have never let it get this bad._ He hadn't missed Bilbo this much in years. He felt small and overwhelmed by his duties, the way he had when Bilbo had first begun to train him in the role of Master of the Hill. He hadn't thought he was worthy or even capable of such responsibility at the time. But Bilbo’s warm presence had eased the fears; the old hobbit's soft voice telling him in his darkest moments,  
  
“There now lad. You’ve some hard times to get through but these little things, they’re not your dragon. You’ll face your dragon someday, but keep your wits and your heart and you just may come through it alright.” Bilbo would pat his shoulder fondly and continue, “You’re a Baggins and there’s more to you than anyone expects.”  
  
Bilbo had loved him, believed in him, and maybe that was part of why Frodo had begun to feel as if he were more than a lost boy. But Bilbo was gone, years now, and though the doubts had come piling on once he left, Frodo hadn’t fallen to them because a boy in the garden had watched him with such awe and wonder in his eyes, expecting great things from him. And Frodo hadn’t the heart to disappoint him.  
  
_Yes,_ he thought, _Bilbo might be gone, but Sam isn’t._ He felt a warm surge of affection. And it was true, what Merry said about it being plain that Sam adored him. He smiled slightly, despite himself.  
  
_Sam called me, “m'dear”._ It was a singular shining thought, one that made him feel lighter. _Oh I bet he calls everyone that, everyone who is kind to him anyway._ But he'd never heard Sam call anyone that. He let the warmth creep back over him. He liked being familiar with Sam. He’d liked holding him the previous night. Probably more than was proper.  
  
Frodo felt his smile melt away. It hadn’t been proper to hold him at all, he thought. Sam himself said not many hobbits would have done it. No, the proper thing to do would have been to send him to bed and leave it at that. But Sam had looked so overwhelmed and been so upset. It had felt right. At the time, he’d thought it had felt right to Sam too- he’d sighed and curled into his arms and looked up at him with such warmth and trust and gratitude in his eyes. He’d needed the reassurance that came from physical affection and Frodo had wanted to give him that comfort and ease the worry pressing in on him.  
  
But he’d likely seen what he wanted to see. Sam had been high as a kite and already generally amiable about going along with whatever he wanted. Sam had curled up with him for those reasons, not because he’d needed comfort.  
  
_I can’t trust what feels right,_ Frodo told himself sternly. But the thought hurt. _And if he knew I like lads he’d never curl up with me like that again,_ Frodo thought and a dull pain squeezed his heart at that thought. _Oh,_ he realized, _that’s why I’ve never told him. I’ve never wanted to risk losing that closeness with him. How terrible of me._ The pain deepened.  
  
_Its not fair,_ Frodo thought miserably aware of how childish he sounded, _why do I have to feel like I’m tricking someone just because I don’t make them privy to something that is very personal?_ He took a steadying breath, and pressed the hurt and confusion down.  
  
They were almost outside of town, just about to pass the mill and cross the bridge over the Water, when Frodo became aware of the sound of hobbit feet behind him. He turned to see Nick Hornblower, and behind him his brother Gerald. They were following, both eyeing him coolly.  
  
“Mr. Baggins, might we have a word?” Nick called. Frodo stared just as coolly back at them. Traditionally, the Hornblowers had gotten on fine with Baggins, until Bilbo had decided a land dispute in favor of the Brockhouses, giving them a rood of what the Hornblowers considered their land. Frodo had inherited the grudge and since he had not liked many of the Hornblowers to begin with he had never made much of an effort to win their goodwill. Now though, it looked as if he were in for more than dirty looks at parties.  
  
“What can I help you with Nick?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Let's go around back, why don't we?" Gerald said.  
  
"What for?' Pippin scowled at him. The older Hornblower narrowed his eyes at Pippin.  
  
"It's a private conversation," Nick said, "No Tooks need stick their nose in."  
  
"Oh!" Pippin exclaimed, "refreshing directness! You must have balls the size of-"  
  
"Cor you've a mouth on you!" Gerald said and grabbed Pippin by the collar, pushing him down hard. Pippin gave a yelp as he hit the ground. Frodo was already in motion, his fist drawn back as he slammed it into Gerald's chin. The hobbit gave a cry and staggered.  
  
"Don't you touch my cousin!" Frodo snarled at them.  
  
"Frodo!" Pippin shouted out a warning, but it was too late. Nick lunged forward and grabbed Frodo’s shoulder, pushing him back, pinning him to the wall of the mill. Frodo twisted aside and kicked out, knocking Nick’s legs from under him. As he fell forward Gerald let out a shout and landed a clumsy punch at Frodo’s jaw. Though it was an awkward blow it still sent stars across Frodo’s vision and he staggered back. Gerald grabbed hold of his weskit and hauled Frodo up against the wall once more.  
  
"We don't need you," Gerald hissed at him. Frodo tried to wrench away but Gerald's grip was like iron. "We need a proper master up on the hill. So you just go back to Buckland and save everyone all this trouble."  
  
"What I do is my own business," Frodo said in a low hard voice, "and none of yours." Pippin was up and sprang at them, his fists balled up, but Nick stepped around and took hold of Pippin.  
  
"No you don't, my lad," Nick said.  
  
"Let go of me!" Pippin shouted.  
  
"And if I don't what are you going to do? Going to get daddy to come after me?" Nick laughed. Pippin howled and struck Nick hard. The Hornblower grunted and slammed an elbow down on Pippin head, making the Took yelp.  
  
"That's enough!" Frodo shouted at them. Nick turned away from Pippin, who had sunk back down onto the ground, clutching his head.  
  
"Oh, I think we're still making our point, Mr. Baggins," he said and balled up his fist. He swung back striking a blow into Frodo’s stomach and Frodo heard himself let out a mixed cough and strangle. As Nick pulled back for a second blow another hobbit caught him by the arm, and twisted the limb back. Nick let out a squawk and Gerald let go of Frodo letting him slid back against the mill wall. There was a scramble as Frodo gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him and looked up to see who his defender had been.  
  
Lotho’s face looked down at him and smiled. Frodo almost groaned. What the hell was Lotho doing here?  
  
“Cousin, you really do get into some scrapes don’t you?” he asked, "alright there cousin Pippin?" he asked. Pippin glared up at him from the ground with watering eyes. Lotho snorted, then turned back to the Hornblower brothers. “Lads, I don’t disagree with you sentiment, but is this the proper way to deal with it I ask you?” the Hornblowers glowered at him.  
  
“Begging your pardon Mr. Lotho, but this is our affair,” Nick said hotly. Lotho frowned at him.  
  
“No. This looks very much like assault,” Lotho paused with raised eyebrows. “Well?” he asked. The Hornblowers scrambled up and were backing away, their faces angry. Frodo stared at the three of them, still so taken aback that Lotho was defending him that he could only gape.  
  
“He has no business in this Farthing Mr. Lotho and you of all people ought to know it!” Gerald called, “I’ll not have him calling danger down on me and mine. I have a family to look after.”  
  
“Then complain to the Mayor, as I am doing,” Lotho snapped, anger entering his voice for the first time, “Brawling in the streets makes you look like a Big Person."  
  
“I assure you lads,” Frodo said hotly as he stood, “I would never bring harm on the hobbits of the West Farthing.” Lotho turned and glared at him.  
  
“Do shut up, Frodo,” he growled and turned back to the brothers, “Don’t make me go and get the Shirriff, lads. Now go home.” Gerald snorted and turned, hauling his brother away. They disappeared over the rise. Lotho shook his head but remained silent. Frodo straightened his collar and pulled his weskit back down into the proper place.  
  
"Pippin?" he called and crouched down beside his younger cousin. Pippin sniffed and accepted Frodo's help in standing, "So, taking our dispute to the Mayor as well as Judge Greyfoot are you?" Frodo asked bitterly. Lotho turned and stared at him.  
  
"You're telling me you haven't written to the Mayor?" he asked. Frodo clamped his mouth shut. He'd walked right into that one. “Really Frodo, you could thank me,” Lotho said coolly.  
  
“I’ll thank you to mind your own business,” Frodo said curtly and stalked away, feeling Lotho’s eyes on him. He flushed suddenly in fury and turned, fixing his cousin with a glare. “What are you about Lotho? Are you trying to convince people that we’re friends?”  
  
“Why the hell would I do that?” Lotho said casting a disgusted look at him, “Hobbits are well aware of my family’s feelings toward you. I don’t have to go out of my way to show that I think you’re a foul little interloper, but unlike you cousin, I’m a true gentlehobbit. I’m a Baggins who follows the rules and someday following the rules is going to get me your Mastership.” Frodo gritted his teeth and his fists balled at his sides. Oh yes, Lotho was a gentlehobbit, hiding his conniving selfishness behind a front of manners and grace. Frodo was well acquainted with that sort of gentlehobbit.  
  
“I really am sorry that Bag End was snatched away from your mother all those years ago,” Frodo said in a low voice, “Truth be told, I considered giving it to her and following Bilbo when he left. But this is my home and these are my people now. I would hate to abandon them to a Master as hard as you.”  
  
“Your people are they?” Lotho sneered. Frodo felt his arms tremble with the need to strike his cousin but instead he stepped back and turned away, going to Pippin.  
  
"Let's go Pip," he said quietly.  
  
“Be careful walking home,” Lotho called after him, “There are all sorts of things out and about, or so I hear.” Frodo didn't answer him.  
  
They walked on a ways in silence, Frodo's head buzzing with anger and unhappiness. Pippin was quiet, staring out at the road ahead.  
  
“I'm sorry about that,” Frodo said quietly. Pippin glanced at him.  
  
“Nothing you should be sorry for,” he said.  
  
“Well,” Frodo sighed, “I'm sorry it happened.” He sighed, “Lotho has a way of getting under my skin in a way no one else can.”  
  
"I know," Pippin sniffed, "I'm sorry I wasn't more help." Frodo put an arm around his sagging shoulders.  
  
"You were a help. Did they hurt you badly?" he asked. Pippin gave him a quick smile.  
  
“No. I'm fine. My pride is more bruised than I am,” he said easily. His expression darkened, and he added, "I hate that they felt easy enough to attack you.” Frodo sighed. It was a terrible sign that no one had come to his aid. Right there in Hobbiton! _They must hate me so,_ he thought and closed his eyes.  
  
"You know Merry and me and Fatty and Sam won't let them do anything to you," Pippin said quietly. Frodo smiled faintly.  
  
"Thank you. Yes I know," he said, "my own little army? But it is a very small army."  
  
"We've all of us got other hobbits we can call on," Pippin said gently, "maybe not so small."  
  
"But if it's my neighbors you have to defend me from then what's the point of it all anymore?" Frodo asked quietly, "I just want to live in peace."  
  
"We'll find a way for you to do that," Pippin said. Frodo nodded but didn't say anything. They lasped into silence once more and made the turn off the road to Overhill, heading to the Hill. They were passing through the little grove of birch when Frodo felt an uneasiness. He blinked, glancing around, not liking that the trees hid so much around them. There was a rustling off to his right and Frodo felt the hairs on his neck rise. He didn't see anything. But his heart was pounding. _A hare, nothing more,_ he thought a little frantically and quickened his pace. He took a breath, then another beginning to feel a little better and then a sound rang out that chilled his blood. A baying howl echoed in the wood. Frodo stopped and turned, his breath coming in short little gasps as he crouched readying himself for a sudden flight.  
  
“Frodo?” Pippin murmured, his eyes wide.  
  
“It's a farmer's dog,” Frodo said quietly. Pippin glanced at him and nodded. Another howl echoed around them and Frodo felt himself begin to shake.  
  
“What if it's not a farmer's dog?” Pippin said quietly. Frodo clenched his jaw. Sam had once cared for his Uncle Andy’s sheep dog, a large friendly thing, as big as Sam at the time. Frodo could still hear Sam’s cheerful child’s voice calling, “Frodo come into the pin! Cafall won’t hurt you.” And when he had and the dog had leapt at him Sam shouted out, “Oh don’t run! He thinks it’s a game! Don’t ever run from a dog.”  
  
“Don’t ever run from a dog,” Frodo breathed, trying to keep his body from bolting off, “Don’t run.”  
  
“Okay,” Pippin agreed shakily.  
  
“We're going to keep walking,” Frodo said quietly, “and not run.” Frodo forced himself to keep moving slowly through the wood when he felt that at any time a monstrous form would bolt out at him, all shining teeth and muscled neck, ready to shake him like a rabbit and gnaw the life out of him.  
  
They passed a bend and Frodo began to breathe a little easier. They were about halfway through the grove now and the trees would begin to thin. But even as he thought it, he began to notice that there was an odd drift of fog rolling across this part of the wood, along the ground. It was an eerie site, masking the bottom of the trees. Frodo frowned at it, never recalling fog this time of year, this time of day, cloaking the woods of the Wet Farthing. Pippin drew closer. _He feels it too,_ Frodo thought.  
  
“Frodo,” Pippin breathed.  
  
“I know, just keep walking,” Frodo told him.  
  
“No, let's run,” Pippin pleaded. Frodo shook his head. He had a very strong feeling that running what absolutely the wrong thing to do. _Prey instinct,_ a small voice whispered to him. He pushed the thought away.  
  
“Don't run,” Frodo said evenly, “we're alright. Just keep walking. The woods don't go on much longer. We're almost-” his words faded into nothing. Before them, standing off to the side of the path were figures- but not the grim corpse creatures that he feared, but golden illuminated figures, who watched them with kind eyes.  
  
"Elves," Pippin said softly. Frodo stared at the figures in the woods. They were beautiful, cloaked in fog, shining like moonlight in dewdrops, but instead of cold moonlight these people were lit by the soft glowing golden afternoon light. They held him fixated by their sheer beauty. A man peered at him and moved closer.  
  
Frodo had met Elves before. Early one morning, hours before dawn, Bilbo had shaken him awake and together they'd ventured deep into the darkest parts of Bindbale wood. Bilbo had somehow known where to go, for he led them right to a party of Elves, making their way through the wood.  
  
They'd stopped and Bilbo had set his hands on Frodo's shoulders. Together they'd watched the procession in awed silence. Frodo's heart had been so full then, of joy and wonder and all the while, Bilbo's hands on his shoulders made him feel rooted and safe, and gave him the courage to stand in plain sight of these strange creatures passing through their homeland. The joy and safety he'd felt then was no where to be found now, replaced instead by a cold fear that strained to climb up from the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Come on, Pip," he said softly, breaking the spell around them. Pippin let out a sigh and ignored him. Frodo took his hand and tugged him away. A woman had joined the man and they moved closer to their path, their movements slow and more like drifting than walking.  
  
"Oh Frodo, they're so beautiful," Pippin said wistfully.  
  
"I know," Frodo soothed, "but we must go."  
  
"There's no hurry," Pippin protested but his voice was empty in a way that gave Frodo a chill. He never wanted to hear Pippin sound like that. He blinked, trying to pull himself from the dream and tugged Pippin hard, keeping him on the path.  
  
“Yes there is. The wolf is out here and we are in danger,” he said but his voice sounded far away and listless. Frodo again tried to focus his thoughts on Bilbo, searching for some memory that might help him. Bilbo had told them the story of his journey through Mirkwood, how the feasting Elves' party had drawn him and his companions from the path, a path that was their only hope of making their way through the cursed forest. But though they knew the danger, their hunger, the beauty of Elvish party, and the smell of their feast, beguiled their senses and was too great a temptation to resist. And when Bilbo approached the party and stepped into the circle of fairy light, he was thrown into enchantment. Frodo felt that enchantment creeping over him now, drawing him closer to the things in the mist and away from the path.  
  
_Stay on the path,_ he told himself, _keep walking. Don't stray._ But something deep inside him yearned to walk into the woods and give into that enchantment, let the creatures take him. Promises of ease and joy worked their way into his mind. He could leave all the grief and worry behind. He could leave all the petty meanness behind. These were Elves. They were wise and good. Never mind that they weren't like the Elves he'd met in the past. There were many types of Elves. And maybe these Elves could take him to Bilbo... Frodo wavered, and he took a step off the path.  
  
Beside him, Pippin stepped with him, sighing in delight now that they were walking out together. The woman drew nearer and raised her hand, offering them a plum. A warning sounded within Frodo but it was dull and muted. He blinked, trying to focus his thoughts but they were as feathery and vague as the light surrounding them.  
  
_This isn't right. It’s death waiting for me,_ he managed to think, _I can’t just give in to this. I must return to my friends. Merry and Fatty are waiting for me. Sam is waiting for me. And I must protect Pippin._ He latched onto Pippin's hand and dragged him back.  
  
"Frodo," Pippin protested, "they're offering us food and drink and so much more."  
  
"It's an illusion," Frodo managed, "don't trust it. Don't eat or drink anything they offer. You can't," he pleaded. Pippin lifted his hand and reached for the plum. Frodo slapped his hand and Pippin yelped, blinking, his eyes focusing a little more. He stepped back, knocking into Frodo and let out a cry of fear. Frodo turned and saw that the fair woman's face had grown longer and he caught a glimpse of black shining eyes and pointed teeth. He pushed Pippin into a run.  
  
“Go!” He shouted. And Pippin went.  
  
Frodo broke through the trees and the sky opened out before them. He looked up, grateful to be out in the open and then he stopped, feeling as if someone had given him a knock. He stumbled, blinking in a daze. Pippin stopped beside him , his expression just as bewildered.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What just happened?"  
  
"I don't know," Frodo said slowly, blinking hard to try and dispel the spots in front of his eyes. His heart was racing.  
  
"I can't remember what we were just doing," Pippin said, and there was a fear in his voice that Frodo had never heard.  
  
"Me either," Frodo breathed, staring at him, "whatever just happened, I think we should get to Bag End. I don't feel safe here."  
  
"No," Pippin breathed and turned to stare into the shaded path behind them.  
  
“Come on,” Frodo urged, taking Pippin by the shoulder, “don't look back.” Together they bolted down the path. _Get home,_ he thought, _just get home and lock the green door tight._  
  
He could see the row now, with its cheerful curls of smoke rising into the afternoon sky, and yet he never slackened his pace. Frodo rushed up the Hill, jumped his own gate and clambered up the stairs to the front door, Pippin at his side. With no hesitation, he pulled the handle and darted in. Though he had shouted at Pippin countless times for slamming his door, Frodo slammed the green door harder than Pippin ever had, and turned, bolting it fast.  
  
"Merry!" Pippin called, “Fatty!”  
  
“Pip?” Merry's face appeared from the entrance to the parlor. He went to them quickly, “you are both so pale!” he took Pippin by the shoulders, “we were told you were attacked in Michel Delving!”  
  
“How did you know about that?” Frodo demanded.  
  
“I'll tell you all about it, but come in, sit down, are you alright? You two ran in here like you were being chased,” he paused, “and where is Sam?”  
  
“Sam is in Hobbiton. He's alright,” Frodo said, “and maybe we were chased. I'm not sure.” He took a breath and glanced up, spotting Fatty who had appeared at the parlor entrance.  
  
“Let's go into the kitchen and have tea,” Merry said.  
  
“I'll lock the doors and bolt the windows,” Fatty said.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo sighed.  
  
A few minutes later they were seated around the long oak table, sipping mint tea and munching on cucumber sandwiches.  
  
"So, “ Frodo said, “we had an odd experience just now. Pippin and I were walking back from Hobbiton and I remember walking along the lane but when we passed though the little wooded place between here and the Overhill road, something happened. I have a feeling it was very unsettling, but I can't remember anything. When we came out of the wood it's like we woke up. It was so strange and we felt so afraid of it that we ran back here."  
  
"I feel like I'd been dreaming. Bad dreams," Pippin added. Frodo nodded.  
  
"I think maybe there was some enchantment at work."  
  
"Do you think the creatures tried to get at you?"  
  
"It was daylight," Frodo said quietly.  
  
"Maybe whatever it was wasn't real," Pippin said, "just something designed to scare us."  
  
"That may be," Frodo said but he wasn't satisfied with that.  
  
"Or maybe it's magic getting its hooks into you," Merry said. Frodo glanced up. "And it didn't altogether succeed." Frodo shivered. That sounded closer to the mark. "This time," Merry added. Fatty turned a scowl on him.  
  
"Don't talk like that!" he scolded. Merry looked unhappy.  
  
"What about Sam?" he asked. Frodo felt a pang of worry seize his heart.  
  
"Sam will be fine," Fatty said quietly, "no one has had any trouble from these creatures unless they are with Frodo, or guarding him."  
  
"And Sam has the cart and Thorin," Merry added. Frodo closed his eyes.  
  
Sam would be fine.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Pippin lay back in the tub, reveling in the warm water. Lazing about in Frodo’s large bathtub was one of Pippin’s favorite activities at Bag End. Back home, the baths of the Tooks were communal, and though very nice, it didn't always make for a relaxing atmosphere.  
  
Merry sat nearby, companionably listening to Pippin tell about their trip. Frodo had already told most of the highlights so Pippin was rattling off a list of the pubs he'd visited and the hobbits he'd seen. It was all chatter, Pippin knew, but Merry was kind enough to sit with him and listen and even egg him on a little. They both knew that their talk would turn darker eventually and both wanted to hold out against it.  
  
Pippin ducked his head under the warm water and felt the ice inside him ease. Frodo had promised to have a fire going for him once he was done with his bath. Pippin surfaced and began to wash his hair.  
  
“Merry?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“You talked about magic getting its hooks into us. Do you really believe in magic?”  
  
“Frodo believes in it,” he said. Pippin snorted.  
  
“Didn’t ask if Frodo believes in magic. Come on Merry,” he wheedled. Merry sighed.  
  
“Why do you want to know?”  
  
“Do you really believe all those stories Bilbo told?” Pippin guffawed, “You think there are stone trolls out there somewhere frozen in an argument over how to cook dwarf?”  
  
“Maybe,” Merry said.  
  
“Why for heaven sake?” Pippin pushed, “You haven’t seen any magic have you?” Merry gave him a look and turned away. “Merry!”  
  
“Take your bath,” Merry told him.  
  
“I am taking my bath.”  
  
“You're the one who encountered something not all together ordinary,” Merry mused, “both here and in Michel Delving. So tell me, do you believe in magic?” Pippin paused, scowling.  
  
“I don't know anymore,” he said. Merry regarded him and gave him a wane smile.  
  
“Well, that's a starting point,” he said. His smiled faded, “did those creatures in Michel Delving strike you?”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“You've a welt along your neck,” Merry said pointing. Pippin twisted and felt for the mark.  
  
“Oh, no, that was from the Hornblowers,” he sighed, “Frodo and I were roughed up a little by them just outside of Hobbiton.”  
  
“What?” Merry scowled, “Nick and Gerald isn't it?  
  
“That's them.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“All the stuff about Frodo bringing danger on the hobbits of the West Farthing,” Pippin sighed. Merry groaned.  
  
“I'd be more angry except that there's some truth in it,” he said.  
  
“Hey! It's not Frodo's fault!” Pippin said. Merry opened his eyes.  
  
“I know that. Doesn't mean there isn't danger,” he said.  
  
“Nonsense,” Pippin huffed, “no one has been attacked unless they were with Frodo.”  
  
“I suppose that's true,” Merry conceded.  
  
“Still," Pippin said after a moment, "I can't help but worry. I hope Sam gets back alright,” Pippin sighed. Merry smiled a little.  
  
“I'm sure he will,” he said.

<>O<>O<>O<>       

Frodo sat in the parlor with Merry and Fatty and Pippin. He'd built a fire for Pippin and found his thickest blankets to heap over the boy. Pippin was lying by the fire, ensconced in the blankets looking very content.  
  
“I hope we're not roasting you,” Frodo said casting a glance at him. Pippin chuckled but didn't answer.  
  
“So,” Fatty said drawing Frodo back into conversation, “you've written to the Judge?” Frodo nodded.  
  
“Yes. Whatever Lotho hoped to accomplish I don't think he'll get very far now.”  
  
“That's a relief,” Merry said, “honestly, if he had to pick a way to make you force him out as your heir, threatening the row hobbits might be near the top of the list.”  
  
“Lobelia and Lotho haven't been in my will for some time,” Frodo said quietly, “I think he knew that.”  
  
“No?” Merry paused, “and are you going to tell us who is in your will?”  
  
“That's private,” Frodo scowled.  
  
“Come on Frodo!” Fatty urged.  
  
“No,” Frodo said, sticking his nose in the air, “I don't want you all thinking of murdering me to get your shares.” Merry hooted and Fatty sat back, slapping the couch arm, chortling.  
  
“Frodo's got a list of terrible ironic gifts for us, just like uncle Bilbo,” Pippin said from across the room.  
  
“Some of his gifts were good,” Frodo protested.  
  
“Grandfather Rory talked about the Old Winyards till the day he died,” Merry said dreamily, “oh, can you leave me some Old Winyards?”  
  
“There's not much left,” Frodo said wryly.  
  
“I suppose that's our fault really,” Fatty said. Frodo smiled.  
  
“There's enough for a few more parties at any rate.”  
  
“I'm dying to know who you've put in place behind you to take up Bag End,” Merry said. Frodo glanced at him, raising his eyebrows. Merry smirked at him, “because it had better not be me.”  
  
“It's not you,” Frodo said easily.  
  
“Thank goodness!”  
  
“So who Frodo?” Pippin asked, “it better not be me either. I don't need more responsibility.”  
  
“Nor me,” Fatty said, “the Bolgers have enough to be getting on with. I don't need to have to manage property so far out in the sticks.”  
  
“Sticks!” Frodo scowled, “Honestly all of you.”  
  
“Don't be too hard on us,” Merry said, “so...?”  
  
“You're going to bother me until I tell you, won't you?” Frodo asked, glowering at Merry.  
  
“Yes Frodo,” Merry said. Frodo paused. There might be something gained from telling them.  
  
“I'll tell you three, but only if you swear secrecy,” Frodo said sternly. They all swore. “Well,” Frodo sat back and let his gaze move to the fire, “the Gamgees, if you must know.” Merry snorted and threw his hands over his mouth.  
  
“Lord Frodo! Bilbo disappointed the Sackville-Bagginses, you’re going to push a stick through them and roast them over a fire pit!”  
  
“I don’t know what you mean,” Frodo said scowling.  
  
“The Gamgees! Well,” Fatty said, delighted, “The idea of Stoors in Bag End might be enough to finish your Aunt Lobelia off for good.”  
  
“Fredegar Bolger!” Frodo scowled at him but Fatty ignored him.  
  
“Why the Gamgees? Are you just being peculiar?”  
  
“No,” Frodo said a little hurt, “the Gamgees have been so kind to me over the years. And Sam knows so much about the holdings. It seemed right.”  
  
“I think it’s a wonderful choice,” Merry said. “Though I doubt anyone else beyond your friends would see it that way.” Frodo nodded.  
  
“I know. It will make problems. That’s why I went over everything so carefully with my solicitor. It’s iron clad. I know it will be challenged, and maybe not by just the SBs.”  
  
“Folks around here might not accept Gamgees as Masters of the Hill...” Fatty mused. Frodo felt a flush.  
  
“I have thought of these things,” he said.  
  
“Sorry. Of course you have.”  
  
“If Sam and his father don’t want to be masters then they could sell the place," Frodo said, "and live in comfort wherever they please to the end of their days. I don’t care. I just want them provided for. That and,” he paused, “I want them to know what they mean to me. Their whole family has looked after me from the time I came here.” He paused again, “so I expect you all to help them however you can. The Gamgees will need help.”  
  
“Well I’m personally not going to believe your estate will be probated anytime soon,” Merry said, “but if I’m still about, you know I will do everything in my power to help any Gamgee I can.”  
  
“Me too,” Pippin said.  
  
“And me,” Fatty added. Frodo smiled at them.  
  
“I knew I could count on you all. Thank you.”  
  
“I suppose the Gamgees don’t know?” Fatty asked. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“It’s a bit tricky. I had a copy of my will drawn up a few years ago- updates, since Sam came of age. I thought it prudent that they have a copy too, just in case,” Frodo winced, “but the problem was getting it to them without them understanding what it all meant.”  
  
“But Sam can read,” Fatty said slowly.  
  
“Ah, yes well, I, ah,” Frodo cleared his throat, “I made sure Sam wasn’t about when it was delivered.”  
  
“No one to read it to poor Mr. Gamgee then,” Merry said, “aside from you.”  
  
“Exactly. Mr. Gamgee brought it to me to read, and I told him it was important papers about the Hill and Row and that he should keep it safe. Then,” he smiled, “I sealed it. And told him to only open it if something happened to me.”  
  
“Well that's not ominous,” Pippin laughed.  
  
“Things happen to people all the time.”  
  
“No they don't,” Merry laughed, “not in Hobbiton.”  
  
“Honestly, Frodo, what's the harm in the Gamgees knowing?” Fatty asked. Frodo dropped his gaze.  
  
“I don't think they'd like it,” he said quietly. He sighed. “I almost told Sam, you know, that morning with the mushrooms, before I knew I was going to get better.”  
  
“Oh Frodo,” Merry said, appalled, “Never mind what that little tidbit would have done for the boy’s nerves, your dying words to Sam would have been about inheritance?” Frodo blinked, confused.  
  
“Whatever should they have been?” he asked. Merry gazed up in exasperation but didn't say anything.  
  
There was a knock at the door and Frodo sat bolt upright. Merry rose, moving into the hallway, Frodo following close on his heels until they stood before the green door.  
  
“Who's there?” Merry called.  
  
“Sam Gamgee,” came the voice.  
  
“Why don't you use your key?” Merry asked, suspiciously.  
  
“Oh Merry!” Frodo huffed, moving forward, “for heavens sake.” Merry pushed him back.  
  
“It could be a trick,” he whispered.  
  
“S-Sorry?” came Sam's voice, “I... I have me hands full and I... well I didn't think I needed to use my key. But I can if you like, Mr. Merry.” Merry squinted weighing these words. “Hey! Mr. Merry? Did something happen?” Sam called, “where is Mr. Frodo?” he demanded and the door rattled, “Mr. Merry! I've had enough of this game!” Merry snorted and went to the door, unlocking it.  
  
“Sam, I'm-” Frodo began but the door opened and there was Sam, framed in the doorway, his arms full of packages and bags, the afternoon sun behind him. Relief washed over him. Sam stared at him, looking just as relieved. He turned on Merry and sent him a rare scowl.  
  
“Mr. Merry that wasn't what I call funny, beg your pardon,” Sam said.  
  
“I apologize,” Merry said, “can I help you bring things in from the cart?” Sam nodded.  
  
“That would be much appreciated, sir,” he said and nodded to Frodo, “Sir.”  
  
“Hello Sam,” Frodo said, “would you like tea?”  
  
“Yes please, if it isn't trouble,” Sam said turning back.  
  
“No trouble. I'll have it ready when you're done,” Frodo said. He felt remarkably better just for seeing Sam in one piece.  
  
Frodo watched from the window as Merry and Sam went to the cart and hauled the rest of the bags out. He turned his attention to brewing a fresh pot of tea. He went to the tea jars and was about to scoop out some Old Took when he paused and changed his mind. He dug through the old tea cabinet and found a small round bundle of leaves, then went to see if he could find his glass tea pot. Flowering tea, Merry had called it, when he brought a case of it from Buckland. They'd sat with Sam one afternoon and showed the gardener how it worked. He dropped the tight packed bundle into the hot water and they'd watched the bundle slowly unfurl, opening to reveal a deep red flower. The tea had been sweet and fragrant and good.  
  
The door opened and moment later Sam emerged, carrying bundles past the kitchen to the pantry.  
  
“Is that everything?”  
  
“Yes sir, aside from what Mr. Merry is bring in,” Sam called as he headed into the pantry, “and we got Thorin put up.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
He waited a moment more, then turned and followed Sam into the pantry. Sam glanced at him as he hefted a bag of oats onto the shelf.  
  
“I'm making flower tea,” he said. Sam's expression brightened.  
  
“I like flower tea. Thank you.”  
  
“Your welcome,” Frodo breathed and leaned back against the nearest shelf. He just needed to be with Sam in a quiet place for a moment. Just a moment.  
  
Sam stepped close.  
  
“You alright?” he asked, his voice pitched low. Frodo sighed. He'd worried Sam.  
  
“I had some adventures on the way home,” he shook his head, “I should have done as you said. I should have let you drive me back.” Sam stared at him, worry settling into his eyes.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“There was a little trouble with the Hornblowers. Nothing very major,” he added, catching sight of Sam’s darkening expression. “And then something odd, in the little grove past the turn off.” He paused, trying to find words to describe the confused half memory. “It was like I stepped into a dream. Something unsettling happened, but my memory is a jumble. It’s the same for poor Pippin. We came out of the woods blinking and afraid. I’m not sure what to make of it.” Sam looked stricken. “I’m alright,” Frodo added.  
  
“I can’t stand it,” Sam said with such deep pain in his voice that Frodo caught his breath. “You can’t even walk from Hobbiton to the Hill! It’s not right!”  
  
“I just need to hold out for a few more days,” Frodo murmured, “the Bounders are coming.” Sam sniffed. “Oh Sam, don’t be unhappy. It will work out one way or another.” Sam turned to him, reaching out. Frodo took in a breath but stayed still, letting Sam clasp him close. Gingerly, he put his arms around Sam’s back.  
  
“I’m sorry. I know I ought not...” Sam murmured, his tone vulnerable, but he made no move to pull away. Frodo pulled him closer.  
  
“It’s okay,” he said quietly. They stood together for a long moment. Then Frodo drew back. “What about you? Did you have too awful of a time in town?” Sam grimaced.  
  
“It wasn't all that bad,” he said slowly, “folks may know where I stand when it comes to you, but they aren't hard on me about it.”  
  
“You don't know what it means to me,” Frodo said. Sam flicked his gaze up and he smiled.  
  
“Eh. Course, sir,” he murmured.  
  
They returned to the kitchen and Frodo began to assemble a tea tray. Merry came in with the last of the bags and headed to the pantry. Sam sat at the table, leaning back, looking tierd. Frodo sent him one more look before turning back to the water he'd set boiling. He took the kettle off the range and poured water into the tea pot.  
  
“Merry,” he called.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You said the Big Person asked for a meeting at the Three Farthing Stone this evening?”  
  
“Well,” Merry said emerging from the pantry, “yes, he said before sundown.”  
  
“A meeting?” Sam said, sitting up, “what's this?”  
  
“A Big Person came up here this morning,” Merry said, “asked to meet with Frodo. Seemed to know about all this dark business. Wanted to make a deal of some sort.”  
  
“I feel afraid to leave my home at this point,” Frodo said slowly, “but that's silly. I can't just stay in Bag End forever.”  
  
“Sir,” Sam said looking shaken, “You’re not going to go out there are you?” Frodo stopped and considered.  
  
“I ought to,” he said, looking hesitantly at Sam. Sam went white.  
  
“Please don’t,” he said.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“There's not much light,” Sam said, then paused and met Frodo's eyes, “whatever you ran into this afternoon, could still be out there. Doesn't seem it needed darkness. And, well,” he sighed, “I had a queer feeling coming back here. It was like someone was watching me.”  
  
“Did you see anything?”  
  
“Nay,” Sam admitted. Frodo stayed quiet.  
  
“I know there's danger going out, but this could be a chance to end all of it.” Merry glanced at him and frowned.  
  
“What about the Bounders? You said Mr. Hanseed told you to stay quiet and stay hidden,” he murmured.  
  
“That may be, but I think it's worth talking with this Big Person. He seems to know something. Besides, I can't stand this waiting around. In the meantime one of you might be hurt. Or someone from the town might be hurt.”  
  
“Then meet him tomorrow. Just please don't go out there,” Sam pleaded. Frodo glanced at him and considered for a long moment. He sighed.  
  
“Oh, very well,” he said finally, “I don't want to go out there, not if I'm honest. I have a bit of a bad feeling about it.”  
  
“Maybe you should trust that feeling.”  
  
“Maybe so.”

<>O<>O<>O<>        

They took the tea into the parlor where Fatty and Pippin were seated.  
  
“Oh, second tea?” Fatty asked.  
  
“Sam missed first tea,” Frodo chuckled. Sam sat down, feeling a little self conscious as he took a cup from the tray and poured the rose colored tea into his cup. Frodo took his own cup and sat down next to Merry on the sofa, passing his cousin a cup as well.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
“Oh, I forgot the honey,” Frodo asked, glancing down at the tray.  
  
“I'll get it,” Sam said and made to rise again.  
  
“Oh, no need, I'll-” Frodo said but Sam didn't hear the rest of what he said. As he had risen his head went suddenly fuzzy and his strength failed, sending him toppling over. Hot tea splashed over his hands and soaked into the rug and the cup shattered in his hands when he hit the floor. He heard Frodo let out an exclamation and felt a deep flush of shame.  
  
“I'm sorry!” he cried, “I'm so sorry!” he tried to pull himself up, but when he moved he found that his limbs felt heavy and weak and his head swam, so that he sank back down. Fear took hold.  
  
“Sam?” Frodo was by his side now. Sam determinedly pushed himself up again, and felt his head go foggy.  
  
“Oh...” he huffed, “I can't... I'm so dizzy.”  
  
“Let's get him onto the couch,” Merry said and Sam felt himself being lifted up by the two gentlehobbits.  
  
“Oh nay, sirs,” he said weakly. Sam closed his eyes against the room spinning until he was settled back onto the couch, lying down. He felt hot from embarrassment but was too dizzy to protest. Frodo crouched near his head, while Merry sat close to Sam's feet. Pippin and Fatty had risen and were standing across the table, peering at him with worried eyes.  
  
“Something in the tea?” Frodo asked, looking at the tea pot.  
  
“I only had a sip,” Sam protested, “oh I'm so sorry about the cup and the mess. I can't believe I broke one of your nice cups.”  
  
“Please don't worry about that,” Frodo said gently. Pippin bent and began collecting the little shards and Fatty went off, presumably to find a towel to soak up the tea.  
  
“I don't think it was the tea that caused this. We drank it too. And it happened so fast,” Merry said slowly, “Maybe it's a spell brought on by fright?” He glanced down at Sam, “you said you felt watched coming back here.”  
  
“I am not having a fainting spell, Mr. Merry,” Sam said in as polite a tone as he could muster. Merry had the decency to look embarrassed.  
  
“Er, no, sorry,” he said.  
  
“Then, did you take a draw from someone's pipe?” Fatty asked, returning and setting to work mopping up the tea.  
  
“No sir,” Sam said in a hurt voice, “I learned my lesson there.”  
  
“Just lie still,” Frodo said soothingly, “It will pass.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam sighed. Frodo frowned and leaned closer.  
  
“Sam, open your mouth,” he said. Sam stared at him, willing himself not to blush and did as his master asked. Frodo peered at him and his frown deepened.  
  
“What is it?” Merry asked curiously.  
  
“His tongue is purple,” Frodo said and Sam closed his mouth in shock.  
  
“What?” he cried and jolted up, then winced as he felt his head spin again.  
  
“Lay still,” Frodo reminded him and turned to Merry, “Didn't the lads in Buckland use something that turned their victim's tongues purple?”  
  
“Greenroot,” Pippin supplied without hesitation, “Sam, do you feel hot?  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam answered truthfully, “But mostly dizzy and weak.” The gentlehobbits stared at one another in silence.  
  
“This is no accident,” Merry said quietly.  
  
“Someone did this to him?” Frodo breathed. Merry nodded.  
  
“I'll be right back,” he said quietly and got up, slipping out of the parlor.  
  
“I'm sorry to be trouble,” Sam said wearily but Frodo turned back and gave him a weak smile.  
  
“This isn't your fault,” he said, but Sam felt like it was. Someone did this to him?  
  
“You said you felt hot?” Frodo asked and a hand to Sam’s forehead and then cheek.  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“Hm. You feel a bit warm,” Frodo said frowning. He too rose and disappeared from view. Sam blinked and tried to steady his head. He felt like crying but kept the tears back.  
  
“Don't worry Sam,” Pippin said quietly, “greenroot's effects only last a short time.” Sam sent the young hobbit a side glance.  
  
“Mr. Pippin I think I need to keep an eye on you. You know too much about this sort of thing to be proper,” he teased. Fatty glanced up in shock at Sam's cheek but Pippin broke into peals of laughter. Sam smiled and closed his eyes. A minute later he heard Frodo returning and opened his eyes to see his master pouring water into a basin and soaking a cloth in it. Fatty had gone and Pippin was settled back before the fire. From farther in the hole Sam could hear Merry bumping around.  
  
“What is Mr. Merry doing?” he asked and Frodo glanced at him, looking worried.  
  
“He's checking the locks and the windows,” Frodo said quietly, and wrung the cloth out. He knelt close to Sam and laid the cool cloth on his forehead. Sam closed his eyes and tried to lie still. He could feel the gentle pressure of Frodo's fingers through the cloth, as he moved it slowly to light on Sam's cheeks, his chin and back to his forehead. They were silent for a while, Frodo continuing the slow movements with the cloth. “That any better?” Frodo asked and Sam rolled his head to the side to see Frodo, close and looking down at him with concern.  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said. Frodo hummed sympathetically.  
  
“My poor Sam,” he murmured, “I bet you never thought the profession of gardener could be so dangerous.”  
  
“I told you, I'd not trade anything for being your gardener, and that's a fact,” Sam said and caught himself before he went any further. Talking this way when he was cloudy headed was probably not a good idea. He felt suddenly self conscious, seeing Pippin's eyes on him. He turned back and saw that Frodo was smiling down at him.  
  
“That's so nice of you to say,” he said, moving the cloth to Sam's cheek. He added in a quieter voice, “I'm sorry that someone did this to you.”  
  
“I can't think how,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“Greenroot works quickly, it would have been within the last hour. Did you eat or drink anything in town?”  
  
“Eh,” Sam frowned, “Aye. I had a pastie. That’s all. Ginger Burrows offered it to me. Said her mam at the bake shop was getting rid of the extras since market was over. She’s a nice lass, I can’t think she’s a poisoned me a purpose.”  
  
“No,” Frodo agreed, “besides it’d be terrible for her mothers shop if it got out that her pasties were spiked.” Frodo frowned, “unless it was retribution aimed at you for being my gardener.”  
  
“No, I’d not believe that!” Sam said. Frodo frowned and didn’t answer. Merry returned to the parlor, kneeling before the couch to peer at Sam.  
  
“Do you feel any better?” he asked.  
  
“I'm alright Mr. Merry,” Sam said. Merry watched him a moment, then rose and went to sit by Frodo.  
  
“Sam thinks the greenroot could have been in a pastie he ate from the Burrows shop.” Merry blinked. “He was offered the pastie you see.”  
  
“Hm,” Merry pondered this.  
  
“Folks use this greenroot for pranks?” Sam asked, “Begging pardon, but I never heard tell of such.”  
  
“It grows more in Buckland,” Merry said, “the lads at Brandy Hall grate a bit and slip it in drinks and pies.” He looked hard at Sam, and seemed about to say something else but stopped and shook his head, “I'm glad you're alright Sam, and that you're here with us.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Merry, me too,” Sam said.  
  
“Rest is what's best for you,” Merry assured him. He glanced at Frodo, “where do you want him Frodo?”  
  
“In the library,” Frodo said, fixing Sam in his gaze, “I'd like to keep an eye on you if that's alright.”  
  
“Yes sir.”  
  
“And would you stay with us too?” Frodo asked, glancing at Merry. Merry blinked and nodded.  
  
“If you like.”  
  
“I'll take your shift Merry,” Pippin said.  
  
“You sure? I can keep watch inside the library.”  
  
“I'd feel better keeping watch tonight,” Pippin said, “beside, I've had a good bit of sleep and I'm feeling much better.”  
  
“Alright then,” Merry said, and turned his attention back to Sam, “Do you think you can walk with help?” he asked, bending down.  
  
“I'll try it, Mr. Merry,” Sam said, struggling to get upright. With Frodo and Merry pulling him up and supporting him on each side, Sam was able to stagger down the hall. He felt so queer and sick. The pipeweed experience had been disconcerting but the effects were plesant enough once he got over the shame and strangeness of it. This greenroot was nothing like that. He felt raw and queasy and hot. His heart was pounding. It was only the reassurance of Frodo and his friends that was keeping him from panic.  
  
They brought him into the library and Merry and Frodo gently eased him down onto the pallet bed.  
  
“Are you hungry? Maybe getting some food in your stomach will help,” Frodo said.  
  
“If he eats now it will just come back up,” Merry said.  
  
“I do feel unsettled like,” Sam said, “if you've some ginger I could chew?”  
  
“Of course,” Frodo said.  
  
“In Buckland the prescription is sleep. Then we'll ease the lad back into proper food with broths and porridge,” he shook his head, “you've had a strong dose, Sam. Just try and be patient with yourself.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said. Frodo brought him the ginger root and promised to return after he made a quick dinner for everyone.  
  
"Do as Merry says and sleep," Frodo told him, "I'll check in on you every so often. Make sure you're alright."  
  
"Thank you," Sam said and meant it. When Frodo left, Sam drifted between sleep and wakefulness for the next two hours. A while later he heard Merry and Frodo come into the library.  
  
“Is he asleep?” Merry whispered.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo answered, also whispering, “what a terrible trick to play. I tell you Merry, I'm going to find out who did this.”  
  
“It wasn't a trick,” Merry said quietly and Sam heard him adjusting the fire.  
  
“What do you mean? You said that lads do it to each other at Brandy Hall for a lark.”  
  
“It's a lark when you put a small bit of root in a lad's drink before he dances with his sweetheart and muddles it for clumsiness. It's hardly the same as giving someone a strong dose of it right before you know he's going to be driving a cart.” There was silence. Sam felt chilled and stupid for not having realized just what kind of danger he had been in. If he had come over dizzy and weak in the cart he could have fallen out, turned the cart over, or been pulled under the wheels. “Sam says he felt watched. Who ever did this, may have been counting on the effects of the greenroot overcoming him before he reached Bag End. I think if he had succumbed out there on the road he would have been attacked. If he got to Bag End, well, then at least they could intimidate you." There was a short pause, then Merry went on in a grim voice, " Someone either tried to kill Sam tonight or send you a message that they can kill Sam.”  
  
“No Merry,” Frodo said again, but his voice was weak. Sam hated to hear fear in Frodo's voice. “Why would anyone want to hurt Sam? It doesn't make any sense.”  
  
“It makes perfect sense to me.”  
  
“Does it?”  
  
“Yes. If I wanted to kill you, I’d kill Sam first,” Merry said, his voice unnervingly thoughtful, ”He’d be bound to get in the way.”  
  
“Ugh. Merry.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You don’t know how chilling it is to hear you say something like that.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“Do you suppose it’s that Big Person behind it? The one who came up the hill? No hobbit would try this.”  
  
“That my guess,” Merry replied, “though it does seem odd he'd do such a thing when you were supposed to be going to meet him."  
  
"He might have wanted to take Sam hostage and use him as leverage during our talk," Frodo sighed, "or maybe this was a warning not to trifle with him? His way of showing me that he has the power to get to my friends?" Frodo sighed, "I don't understand it. Why poison Sam? Why not just threaten me in person?"  
  
"It's all about striking fear," Merry breathed, "we know he heard the tale of Sam taking a draw from the Proprietor’s pipe. That may have given him the idea. And the man seemed very well informed about you. I’m sure part of it was opportunity, but it may also be that he knows a bit about Sam, and maybe what Sam means to you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That attacking him in particular might hit you in a way that it wouldn't do for the rest of us.”  
  
“I'd be scared if any of you were attacked.”  
  
“But it wouldn’t be quite the same, would it?” There was a brief silence.  
  
“Maybe not,” Frodo said quietly.   
  
There was silence as Frodo and Merry prepared for bed. A few more quiet words bidding one another goodnight and then the only sound came from the crackling fire. Sam felt deeply troubled by their words, but his body wanted rest. Despite his fears, his thoughts slowed and he slipped into dreams.

A while later, Sam jerked awake feeling distinctly unsettled, his senses on alert. Gingerly he sat up, blinking in the dim light and strained his ears and eyes for a sight or sound. His head was clear now and though his stomach was still sour, he felt strength in his limbs again; it seemed that Merry had been right about sleep. Slowly, Sam turned and glanced over at the pile of blankets on the fold out. Merry’s short-cropped curls spread out over the pillow, but Frodo was gone. Sam drew in a quick breath feeling his heart quicken in fear.  
  
He stood and looked around wildly, then went to the library door. It was unbolted and ajar. Sam frowned and stepped out. Pippin and Fatty were seated in the hallway, but they were asleep, leaning on one another. Sam blinked, and went to them.  
  
“Mr. Pippin? Mr. Fatty?” he shook their shoulders. They didn't wake. Sam stood, feeling cold. He needed to find Frodo. His heart began to hammer.  
  
Something on the edge of his senses was still lit up as if some great storm were gathering, the silent power mounting while the atmosphere crackled. And yet there was an odd peacefulness that sought to creep over him, lulling his senses. It was like a song that he couldn't hear, urging him back into sleep. Sam shook his head. His limbs were strong now and no amount of sleepiness was going to make him forget that Frodo was missing and maybe in danger.  
Sam made his way down the dark hall, drawn toward the main entrance, afraid of what he might find but unable to turn back. As he rounded the final corner he stopped and stared.  
  
The green door stood ajar, wind blowing gently through the opening, and dark against the pale sky, standing just short of the threshold, was a shaded form. He watched in horror as the form moved, turning to regard him with a coldness that froze Sam’s blood. Images flooded his mind of fell creatures painted in cool moonlight, fey and beautiful but terrible. Sam let out a cry of fear and stepped back, caught between these images and recognition of who stood before him.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he cried. Frodo did not answer but stood in silent menace and a wind blew suddenly strong behind him and Sam had a sudden vision of silvery lights winking in and out of the night air like the stars in the sky blowing into the smial, surrounding Frodo’s still form.  “Mr. Frodo!” he cried again, louder this time, his voice full of fear. Something in Frodo’s body went slack and he lifted his chin to look at Sam, and this time his eyes focused, recognition in his face. Sam rushed forward as if released from a spell and clasped Frodo’s shoulders.  
  
“Sam?” Frodo said weakly, blinking in the moonlight.  
  
“Oh sir, whatever were you doing?” Sam babbled. Frodo turned to gaze behind him at the open door and his expression went slack again.  
  
“Elves, Sam,” he said dreamily, “there are Elves out there. Let's go see them.” He took a step forward. Panic seized Sam and he bolted in front of Frodo, standing between him and the door. Frodo opened his eyes and stared at Sam in surprise.  
  
“There's no Elves out there,” Sam said and took hold of the door. Frodo was staring out into the night behind him, his eyes glazed.  
  
“No. I can see her. She's calling to us,” he said, “turn round. You'll see her too.” Sam shuddered at Frodo's words and closed the door hard, keeping his back turned. He bolted it and set his back to wood to stare at Frodo. The gentlehobbit was blinking, looking confused.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, and stepped forward, taking him by the shoulders. He felt like trying to shake him awake from this strange dream.  
  
“Sam? Why are you...”  
  
“You can't go out there. Understand?” Sam said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Sir, please. Don't you remember how dangerous it is? What kind of creatures are out there, just waiting for you to step foot outside of Bag End? You're caught in some dream, sir. Please just trust in me.” Frodo stared at him, his expression slack and bewildered.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo said at last, “I'll trust you.” Sam took a gasping breath.  
  
“Thank you,” he murmured. Frodo's eyes focused a little more and he reached out, taking one of Sam's hands. It was shaking.  
  
“I’ve upset you,” he said quietly. Sam wanted to duck his head and deny it but Frodo was still watching him with such sudden tenderness that Sam couldn’t lie, even to protect his dignity.  
  
“Frodo?” they turned to see Merry watching them from the hallway, his eyes moving from Frodo to Sam.  
  
“Hello Merry,” Frodo said, still in a daze. Merry drew closer, peering at him.  
  
“What's going on?” he asked, looking to Sam.  
  
“Mr. Frodo... wandered up here,” Sam said. Merry paused and turned his attention back to Frodo.  
  
“What for, Frodo?” he asked. Frodo blinked, a little more focus coming into his eyes. He frowned.  
  
“I don't know,” he said, “I don't remember.” Merry chuckled.  
  
“Dozy Frodo,” he said gently, “Have you been sleep-walking and frightening Sam?” Frodo blinked and turned, releasing Sam’s hand.  
  
“Oh dear,” he murmured, “I have, haven’t I? I'm sorry Sam.”  
  
“S' alright,” Sam breathed. He paused a moment then locked eyes with Merry, adding, “he tried to go outside.” Merry's expression went hard.  
  
“Really?” he breathed. Sam nodded.  
  
“And Mr. Pippin and Mr. Fatty were asleep,” Sam said in a low voice. Merry snorted.  
  
“Yes I saw them! Some good they are!”  
  
“I tried to wake them, but they wouldn't wake, sir. It's like an enchantment,” Sam said, hearing his voice go high. Merry watched him and turned, going down the hall.  
  
“Enchantment or no, I'll wake them!” he said. Sam turned back to Frodo who was still blinking and looking vague.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Let's go back to bed, hey?”  
  
“Alright,” Frodo said slowly. He glanced over at Sam, giving him a warmer look.  
  
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.  
  
“Much better,” Sam said.  
  
“I'm so glad to hear that,” Frodo said. Sam took a breath and reached out, putting his hand on Frodo's back, leading him down the hall. It might be bold, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to guide Frodo away from the strangeness. And Frodo made no objection.  
  
“Peregrin Took!” Merry shouted, “Fredegar Bolger! Up slugs!”  
  
“Merry!” Frodo complained as they drew closer.  
  
“Oh!” Pippin cried as Merry clapped next to his ear.  
  
“Ug! Merry! Stop that!” Fatty groaned.  
  
“What do you two mean falling asleep?” Merry shouted.  
  
“What? We weren't asleep!” Pippin shouted back.  
  
“Hell you were!”  
  
“Oh bother it,” Fatty said, “I think we were.”  
  
“Were not!” Pippin protested, “we were just sitting here talking and...”  
  
“I think you slipped into a doze,” Merry said, “need to trade out?”  
  
“No,” Fatty said, “no. We're alright.” Sam eyed them then pressed on Frodo's back leading him into the library. He'd trust Merry to sort Fatty and Pippin. He took a breath. The spell was broken. The terror was locked outside, the chill beaten back and Sam’s fear drained away as he listened to Merry harangue his Took cousin and Bolger friend.  
  
“Set you down, Mr. Frodo,” he said gently. Frodo sat on his foldout and yawned.  
  
“Maybe we should bolt the library?”  
  
“Well we did that sir. But you know how to unbolt it. That's the problem,” Sam said. Frodo frowned. Merry entered the library and turned back, closing the doors and bolting them. He paused and then pulled a large stack of volumes in front of the doors. Sam blinked and went to help him, piling more items in front of the door. Neither spoke. When they were finished Merry turned to him.  
  
“I'll take a turn on the pallet,” he said, sending Sam a sidelong look.  
  
“Oh, but,” Sam said.  
  
“And don't take the couch. It's miserable to sleep on. See if Frodo will let you share his foldout.” Sam blinked and turned to Frodo. Frodo was watching Merry. His attention shifted to Sam.  
  
“You're welcome, of course,” he said.  
  
“You sure?” Sam asked. Frodo nodded. Sam nodded and went to the low fold out, easing himself down beside Frodo, who had already laid himself down and drawn up the covers.  
  
“Let's have no more wandering, eh Frodo?” Merry said, “good night.”  
  
“I'll try. Goodnight,” Frodo said.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

The room filled with quiet and Frodo tried to relax. Despite himself he found that he couldn't find sleep as easily this time. He tried turning but he didn't want to move about too much and disturb Sam. He settled himself and decided that he'd just stay awake. Maybe that was better anyway.  
  
Beside him, Sam turned, facing him now and blinked at him.  
  
“You can't sleep either, hm?” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Nay.”  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
“Tisn't your fault,” Sam murmured. Frodo held out his hand. Sam blinked at him, then sending Frodo a guarded look, put his hand into Frodo's.  
  
“Keep me from wandering,” Frodo whispered. Something in Sam's expression softened.  
  
“Alright,” he whispered back. They sank into silence and Frodo tried to relax. An hour slid by, but sleep refused to come for either of them. Frodo was thinking of turning over again, to see if he felt more comfortable, when Sam lifted his face and fixed Frodo in his gaze.  
  
“Don't go,” he said quietly. Frodo peered at him in the near darkness. Sam looked frightened.  
  
“I'm not going anywhere,” Frodo said easily and squeezed his hand.  
  
“I mean,” Sam murmured, “don't leave the Shire.” Frodo sucked in a breath. He had to hold himself still and think for long moments about what to say.  
  
“It's not so simple.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Sam...” Frodo sighed.  
  
“I don't understand. I know people here are cruel. But you don't have to go to the Wild just because of that,” Sam whispered, “Do like Mr. Merry is always saying and go live away in Buckland if that makes you happy. Only don't go walking out into the Wild. Just cause you think folk here hate you.” Frodo stiffened, remembering Merry behind them, but Merry's breathing was slow and sleep-like. Frodo had an uncomfortable vision of Merry finding out about his retirement plan, and building an elaborate conspiracy to stop him.  
  
“It wouldn't be because of that,” Frodo murmured softly. He closed his eyes and went on, dropping his voice. “It's a need, you see. And a hope.”  
  
“You think Mr. Bilbo is out there?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo whispered. Sam was quiet.  
  
“Then, if you must go, let me come with you,” he said. Frodo's eyes flew open. His own pleas to Bilbo suddenly ringing in his ears from all those years ago. Tears sprang to his eyes and he hoped Sam couldn't see them in the dimness.  
  
“Sam, the Wild is no place for you.”  
  
“Maybe not,” Sam replied with no hesitation, his expression unexpectedly hard, “but being at your side is.” Frodo found his words dry up.  
  
_Maybe I shouldn't be so stubborn,_ Frodo thought, _maybe Bagginses aren't always meant to leave those they hold dear behind?_ But something deep inside him told him he couldn't escape that fate anymore than Bilbo could. Anymore than his parents could. The tears welled up again, harder this time, rolling down over the bridge of his nose. There was a soft sound from Sam and Frodo felt his hand tugged up between them. He blinked away the tears best he could and watched Sam kiss his hand.  
  
“I know I'm just a silly gardener,” Sam said, “who has no business going more than ten miles from his home. But just you know this gardener will follow after you. If you let him.” Frodo ached, as if his chest had been squeezed. He shifted forward, clasping Sam's hands with his own, moving close enough that their foreheads brushed and their curls tumbled together.  
  
“You wonderful hobbit,” he murmured, his voice strained with emotion. Heat hit Frodo's cheeks and he stilled, remembering Merry, but if he was awake he had to good grace to at least pretend to be asleep. Frodo took a moment, then decided he didn't care. His heart was full of Sam.  
  
“Please,” Sam whispered, “please take me with you.” Frodo was silent a long moment.  
  
“Alright,” he breathed. Sam gasped, then almost immediately his arms were round Frodo, pulling him into a hug. Frodo stifled a laugh and put his arms around Sam in turn.  
  
“You don't know what it means to me,” Sam sniffed, “I was so scared when you said you might leave. I couldn't bear it.” Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He'd known Sam would miss him, but he'd never guessed this.  
  
“I never meant to cause you pain,” Frodo said quietly, drawing back.  
  
“I know,” Sam reassured. Frodo looked into Sam's face. The gardener blinked at him, his face lit by the softly glowing coals.  
  
“I love you, Sam Gamgee,” Frodo said quietly. The change in Sam's face was wonderful. His eyes widened, a light coming into them then his startle melted into pleasure, softening his expression.  
  
“I love you, too,” he whispered. Frodo let his eyes fall shut as emotion washed over him. He'd never dreamed how good it would feel to tell Sam this and to hear Sam say it back to him. He opened his eyes at a touch and found that Sam had drawn them back together, their faces only a breath away. Frodo felt his heart pick up. Sam was looking at him, his eyes full of wonder and joy.  
  
“Feel easier?” Frodo asked quietly. Sam smiled.  
  
“A bit.”  
  
“Then see if you can sleep,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“Can I keep holding on to your hand?” Sam asked shyly.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo whispered.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes and Frodo watched him for a time, until Sam's expression relaxed and he began to snore softly. There was something very reassuring about it, and Frodo felt himself slip into a half sleep. Hours passed and finally something in his mind told him that dawn had come.  
  
_We made it through the night._ Frodo gazed at the dying coals of the fire. _But how many more nights can I make it through?_ he wondered.


	12. Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really hoping at the end of the Hobbit movies that they'd have an end cap where they come back to the day of the Party and it picks up with Bilbo giving the book to Frodo, or telling the story to him and his friends, or something. I just thought it might be nice to have that sort of passing the story on, kind of moment. Plus, the interactions between Bilbo and Frodo in the first Hobbit movie were kind of odd. Bilbo was doddering - oh the party is today? What? And he also decided to write his entire book that day. That's just poor planning. And he was kind of an asshole to Frodo- which is ok, but it was never balanced with any kindness between them, which they could have done in an end cap. So, I have a soft spot for scenes where Bilbo is telling stories to Frodo and his friends, seeing what their reactions are. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story and for reading. I swear there is actual romance and not all the dancing around it there's been so far. In fact, there may be some coming up in the next few chapters...

Merry sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and stared out the window. He needed time to think in the quiet of the morning before everyone else rose. He had woken not long before and had glanced over at Frodo and Sam, bundled up, lying close together. He’d spied their clasped hands and entwined fingers and felt touched by it. Then he’d glanced away, feeling like he was seeing something private; something more intimate than hands clasped together.  
  
Merry returned to the present, his eyes scanning the dawn lit hills outside. He was disturbed by Frodo's wanderings, having never known his cousin to sleepwalk, and uncertain as to what it meant that Frodo had nearly gone out on his own when danger was all around them. He didn't like it.  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Merry turned to see Frodo entering the kitchen, blinking and rubbing at his eyes.  
  
“Good morning. Sleep well?”  
  
“Well enough,” Frodo said, glancing at the stove, “no tea?” he asked, mournful .  
  
“Coffee,” Merry said, raising his mug. Frodo made a face. Merry laughed. “I’ll make you some tea, poor thing.” Frodo sat down.  
  
“Thank you, Merry.” Merry went to the stove and retrieved the rest of the hot water he’d boiled for his coffee and poured it into a teapot.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I need to know what protections the Big Person was speaking on,” Merry said quietly. Frodo blinked.  
  
“Protections? You mean the bolts and locks?”  
  
“No Frodo,” Merry said quietly, “I mean I need to know what real protections you have here.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Perhaps something to do with Gandalf?” Merry asked in a low voice, flicking his eyes up to Frodo's. Frodo's expression went opaque.  
  
“I don't know what you mean.”  
  
“Frodo, think,” Merry pleaded, “had he ever talked about protections over Bag End?” Frodo's gaze opened again. He frowned.  
  
“If Gandalf has done something to protect this smial then I am not privy to it,” Frodo said quietly and Merry believed him.  
  
“I’m going to poke around today, with your permission. See if I can find anything suspiciously wizardy.”  
  
“Whatever you like,” Frodo said.  
  
“I wonder if Sam has any ideas,” Merry mused, “he’s been all over this smial hasn’t he?”  
  
“More than anyone else alive I should think,” Frodo said.  
  
They sat in silence a moment. Frodo cleared his throat, “How are the farm survey’s coming? Your father wrote you back quickly.” Merry sighed loudly and rubbed his head.  
  
“Oh Frodo, you would ask about that,” he groaned.  
  
“Poor Merry,” Frodo said sympathetically, “As bad as all that?” Merry poured himself more coffee and glowered at the beverage while he liberally tipped the pitcher of cream.  
  
“ _Pay more attention to the ordering of your surveys, the numbers are too far off the mark to make proper sense, you are making careless errors_ ,” he recited gloomily, “I’ve never had a head for numbers you know that Frodo, and here I am expected to calculate the gross crop output of a whole Farthing.”  
  
“I looked at your surveys,” Frodo said gently, “They didn’t look bad to me.”  
  
“You’re not a crop manager,” Merry said bitterly, then looked up apologetically and sighed, “I do my best you know, and all father ever does is point out the flaws and declare the whole thing a waste. Then he does the job over again himself, right there in front of me, pointing out each step, telling me things I already know.”  
  
“He’s just trying to teach you,” Frodo said quietly, “Maybe he doesn’t go about it in the best way, but he has your best interests at heart.”  
  
“I know,” Merry said quietly, lifting his cup to drink, “But it doesn’t feel like it when I get letters like that, and certainly not when he says how stupid I am in front of the family.” Frodo was quiet a moment, pondering Merry’s words. He had a hard time with conversations like these, not least of all because he had only distant memories of his own father, and Bilbo had never treated him in such a way.  
  
"You are not stupid, Merry," he said quietly, "In fact, you may be the smartest hobbit I know."  
  
"Nonsense," Merry said. Frodo shot him a look and Merry's expression softened. He dropped his gaze. "Thank you, Frodo." Frodo nodded.  
  
“Sam’s father does that to him too,” Frodo said in a reflective voice, “I’ll never forget the afternoon the Gaffer ran Sam down about some little thing he had done in the garden. And with me standing there too. Poor Sam was horribly embarrassed; he looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there the rest of the afternoon.”  
  
“What did you do?” Merry asked. Frodo looked uncomfortable.  
  
“I didn’t do anything,” he said quietly, “Didn’t feel it my place I suppose. I wasn’t master yet, but still…” he sighed, “I did find Sam at the end of the day and asked him to the Dragon for supper and an ale. That seemed to cheer him up.”  
  
“I wish supper and an ale could cure everything,” Merry said smiling. Frodo smiled back at him.  
  
“There was a time when it could.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

After a time, Merry finished his coffee and went to start his poking around looking for wizard baubles. Frodo remained in the kitchen, drinking the tea Merry has made for him. He tried to make himself get up and start breakfast, but he felt lazy contentment. Merry's reminder of their troubles had done nothing to sap away the spark of joy simmering inside him.  
  
Earlier in the library, he had awoken to the feeling of something ticklish against his cheek. He opened his eyes only to see Sam leaning over, and then he felt what could only be a kiss placed lightly to his forehead. He closed his eyes again and kept still. He didn’t want to embarrass Sam.  
  
Frodo could feel the reverence in the kiss and in the light touch of Sam’s hand on his arm. He was reminded of Sam’s hand pausing to press gently between his shoulders that afternoon in his study after Sam had rubbed his neck. Solemn tokens of support and love. Sam drew away and Frodo had lain there, warm and touched by the kiss. When he’d finally opened his eyes, he was alone.  
  
Now sitting in the kitchen he let himself linger on the memory, and on the memory of what had passed between them last night. _Sweet Samwise,_ he though and leaned back closing his eyes. _He put his arms around me, held my hand all night and then he kissed me._ Frodo sipped his tea and felt peace settle over him as he gazed out the window. _It must have taken courage for him to kiss me, even if he thought me asleep. I wonder if I could ever be that brave?_ He'd been brave enough to tell Sam he loved him, but that was somehow different. Words, he had experience with. And he hadn't really been risking much. He knew Sam loved him too, and would probably say it back, given how much sweetness they had let grow between them. But touch – that was different. Sam might dare such things, but Frodo felt unsure of where he should draw the line with Sam.  
  
_Could I put my arm around him some night as we sleep? Could I kiss his cheek or his forehead? It would be a comfort to me, but would it be a comfort to Sam? Would Sam even welcome such a thing?_ He frowned, trying to imagine it from Sam’s perspective. He didn’t think he would be uncomfortable, but then, it was hard to trust his guesses.  
  
_I could ask him,_ he thought, and felt his face go hot. No. That would only embarrass both of them. Perhaps he’d only dare such a thing if the moment was right; an intimacy between them that wasn’t ever spoken on. But then, he doubted he’d have the courage for it, even if the moment was right.  
  
Sam was so generous with his affection, and so very trusting and kind. He'd never suspect that his embraces might make Frodo feel flushed. And he'd never suspect that Frodo would agonize over something so simple between them. It made him wonder, if perhaps the responsible thing to do would be to discourage such things. But almost at once he rejected the idea.  
  
_I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for loving him,_ he thought gazing at the ceiling, _there’s nothing wrong about it. Even if I have the odd impure thought, I’d never do anything to make him feel uncomfortable. And anyway, I would be such an ass if I rejected his embraces and kisses. He loves me and wants to show me that love._ He paused.  
  
_This is silly,_ Frodo told himself. He was worrying over innocent touching that in his heart he knew Sam would enjoy. _I’d not worry over such if it were anyone else._ He'd curl up with Merry or Pippin and give it hardly a thought, except for gratitude that he had such good friends. _I suppose it must really be because I’m... a little smitten,_ Frodo thought, wincing. _And maybe not a little._ His cheeks went hotter.  
  
“Damn,” he groaned aloud. _Why now? When I need to keep my wits about me,_ Frodo told himself sternly, _I can't just sit here thinking about Sam and working myself up into worry. He needs me to be strong. I have to deal with this trouble and protect my friends. I can't think about this now._  
  
But even though he told himself these things, he kept feeling his thoughts tugged back to Samwise Gamgee.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Hob Hatfield stared at Lotho Sackville-Baggins, in shock.  
  
“You're doing what?” he asked uncertainly. They were walking near the Bywater Pool, circling to the side furthest from the town, following a little beaten path that folks took on strolls around the Pool.  
  
“Going into business with him. In a manner of speaking anyway,” Lotho said, “I may not need the conjurer's silly magics, if they're real at all, but he has put me into communication with some very wealthy people who live in the South and who have an interest in buying Shire weed.”  
  
“I know you been looking for buyers, but Lotho, you can't fool with that conjurer!”  
  
“Don’t tell me what I can do lad!”  
  
“We don't know aught about him,” Hob protested.  
  
“I know enough,” Lotho said smoothly. Hob sighed. He really hadn't wanted to get into this with Lotho, but he couldn't see any other way now.  
  
“You don’t know all I know,” he said, “See, I helped him out yesterday and his plot almost got Sam Gamgee killed!”  
  
“What?” Lotho paused and frowned at him. Hob sighed.  
  
“He asked me to slip Sam something to make him easy to grab.”  
  
“And you... did?” Lotho asked.  
  
“Aye,” Hob admitted.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The Big Person, he promised a... a potion. It a...”  
  
“A potion? You did that for a potion?”  
  
“Well,” Hob paused feeling a little flustered, “it makes a fellow’s prick hard, you see.”  
  
“Thank you Hob,” Lotho groaned, “I could have lived without knowing that.”  
  
“You did ask.”  
  
“So you poisoned Gamgee?” Lotho asked. Hob nodded.  
  
“Yes. I put some greenroot in a pastie and got my Ginger to give it to him.” Lotho sent him an impatient look.  
  
“Greenroot isn’t dangerous. I thought you said he almost died?”  
  
“T'wasn't the greenroot was the problem. See after he ate it, my Ginger told me Sam drove off in Mr. Frodo’s cart! The conjurer has been watching Sam. He knew he was driving!”  
  
“Chancy,” Lotho scowled, “you're lucky no harm came of it.”  
  
“Yeah. Lucky,” Hob growled, “that’s why I’m not risking anything more.”  
  
“What did he want to grab Sam Gamgee for?” Lotho frowned, “beat on him?”  
  
“I don't know. Maybe so.”  
  
“I understand the urge,” Lotho sighed, “but getting to see Gamgee get his comeuppances isn't worth what you risked. Neither is your hard prick.” He scowled, “You're young yet Hob. Do you truly have trouble getting hard?”  
  
“Well you see-”  
  
“No. Never mind. I don't want to know.”  
  
“Anyway, it means this wizard don't have any problem with risking a hobbit's death,” Hob said.  
  
“Well. The Gamgee lad didn't die, did he?”  
  
“No,” Hob said, “we'd a heard otherwise.”  
  
“I'm not going to abandon the contacts he's given me just because of some scheme that was half your idea,” Lotho said giving Hob a hard look.  
  
“Alright, but ask yourself why he's doing this,” Hob pressed, “why give you the buyers you've been looking for?”  
  
“He's hoping to cultivate me as a client,” Lotho answered easily. “And he's asked for a small fee. Reasonable, under the circumstances.”  
  
“I don't like it.”  
  
“You were the one who said give him a chance. Now you’re set against him all of a sudden because you did something you're ashamed of. Cold feet, Hob my lad.” Lotho snorted and gazed over the Water. “Sometimes a hobbit has to be willing to step over the line a little.”  
  
“Well I did, and I didn't like it. Don't you go making the same mistakes,” Hob cautioned. Lotho glanced at him but stayed silent. “Lotho, really, I-” Hob began but Lotho's eyes narrowed, flicking out behind him.  
  
“What's that?” he asked suddenly. Hob blinked and turned. Lotho pointed to a spot at the shore of the Water, where a cluster of rocks and tree limbs met the water's edge.  
  
“What?” Hob asked. Lotho ignored him and walked closer to the rocks. “Lotho!”  
  
“Hey there!” Lotho called, running now to the rocks. Hob quickened his pace, joining Lotho as he scrambled down the little embankment to the water's edge. Lotho stepped into the shallows and knelt. Hob felt his stomach lurch as he finally made sense of what he was seeing. What he'd taken as a tree root and rock, was really a muddy jacket and an arm. Lotho reached down, and took hold of the hobbit's shoulder, turning him over.  
  
The water bloated face of Bugsey Turnplow stared unseeingly up at the sky, lifeless and pale.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

As the morning wore on, Frodo decided to take a break. He'd been writing out orders for food and hiring serving hobbits for the party he was planning for the town. He sighed unhappily eyeing the stack of envelopes. He'd hoped to be in the midst of planning a much smaller happier party. His birthday was a little under a week away. With a sigh he turned away, content for the moment to investigate his prospects for elevensees.  
  
He ambled down the hall expecting to hear Sam humming to himself in the kitchen but instead heard the murmurs of conversation. He peered into the kitchen to find both Sam and Merry, standing with their backs to him, bent over a tray of bread and vegetables; Sam was apparently teaching Merry the finer points of cucumber, egg and cress sandwiches. Beside them, scones were cooling on the stove top and the clotted cream was out on a tray next to the teapot. Fatty and Pippin were seated at the oak table, playing cards.  
  
“Oh this is a nice picture,” Frodo said feeling his spirits lift. The others turned and greeted him, smiling.  
  
“Thought you’d like this,” Merry said, “Sam said you usually just have a bit of tea and a scone but I thought it might be nice to make a real meal of it.” Frodo met Sam's eyes for a moment and Sam smiled.  
  
“Thank you two,” he said and went to go sit beside Fatty. Pippin slapped down a card and Fatty scowled.  
  
“So anyway,” Pippin said, resuming some conversation, “It's just more convenient. There's no need for everyone to use my full name all the time, no matter what aunt Rosemunda says! Besides, they'll be putting titles on me soon enough and that will just make my name longer,” he groused. Frodo laughed as the scowl.  
  
“Well, you'll be Pip to us for life,” he said.  
  
“And I welcome that,” Pippin said. Fatty chuckled and slapped down a card of his own.  
  
“Witch king!” he said.  
  
“Fuck you,” Pippin spat.  
  
“Language,” Fatty scolded and took two of Pippin's cards.  
  
“Let’s please don’t shock my gardener,” Frodo told him lightly. He heard Sam chuckle and smiled. Pippin sat back grinning.  
  
“Sam's heard me say fuck,” he said proudly.  
  
“I imagine he has,” Frodo said sighing, “since you seem to say it a lot when you visit.”  
  
“Can't say it at home without a lot of fuss,” Pippin laughed and added wickedly, “Bag End is a better place for my fucks.”  
  
“You really are going to shock Sam,” Fatty observed.  
  
“Peregrin Took,” Frodo said flatly.  
  
“Long form names again!” Merry laughed. Frodo cast a look at him. Merry was a little giddy, and Frodo was glad to see it. He’d been so grim this visit. “You know, Frodo is the only one of us that uses his full proper name. No nicknames or shorten forms for him.”  
  
“Frodo has a nickname,” Fatty said brightly. Frodo sat bolt upright.  
  
“Don’t you dare!”  
  
“Oh?” Pippin gasped, delighted, “tell! Tell!”  
  
“Bingo,” Fatty said.  
  
“Oh that’s terrible,” Merry groaned.  
  
“Bingo? What’s that from?” Pippin asked.  
  
“It’s just a very old nickname that no one uses,” Frodo growled, “never you mind it.”  
  
“Er, what was it?” Fatty frowned, “Your father liked the name Bingo, but your mother refused to let him name you that?”  
  
“Something like that,” Frodo grumbled and gave him a cool look.  
  
“Alright, stop teasing poor Frodo,” Merry laughed, “Sam? Are these presentable?”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said.  
  
They sat down to eat and conversation settled down. Afterwards, Merry resumed his search of Bag End, dragging Fatty and Pippin off with him, leaving the cleaning up for Sam. Frodo rose and began to gather plates.  
  
“I've got this, sir,” Sam said mildly.  
  
“Oh let me help. It's better than writing out orders or doing accounts,” Frodo said. Sam snorted, but made no other comment. “You were quiet during elvensees,” Frodo said, bringing the plates to the sink. Sam chuckled.  
  
“It's a might hard to get a word in with your friends going at it, begging your pardon,” he said.  
  
“True,” Frodo said warmly.  
  
“Besides, a lot of it was teasing you. And I'm not going to help them do that.”  
  
“Thank you!” Frodo laughed, “I'd be finished for sure if you joined in.” He paused, “Don't mind them too much. They're good lads. They tease me to keep me from being too serious.”  
  
“If you say so, sir,” Sam said agreeably. They washed the plates together and Sam dried them, while Frodo wiped down the stove and counters.  
  
There was a knock at the kitchen side door. Sam stepped around the counter and blinked, glancing through the window.  
  
“It's my dad,” he said and went to the door, opening it. Frodo wiped his hands as Hamfast Gamgee entered the kitchen, removing his hat as he did.  
  
“Good morning, Mr. Frodo,” he said.  
  
“Good morning, Master Gamgee,” Frodo said, “would you like tea?”  
  
“No thank you, sir,” the old gardener said, “I just come up here to see how you are. Has Sam been behaving hisself?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Frodo said, trying to keep himself from glancing at Sam. “And we're all fine here.”  
  
“That's very good to hear. My Marigold was going on about some gossip or another in town and I hoped you hadn't been troubled by it.”  
  
“T'was more than gossip,” Sam grumbled, “Madam Hillbough was rude to Mr. Frodo, yesterday.”  
  
“I am sorry to hear such,” Ham said frowning.  
  
“Sam was good enough to do the shopping for me,” Frodo said, “so that I could come back here and avoid similar unpleasantness.” Ham sent an approving look at his son.  
  
“Well never you mind them, sir. They're ignorant folk and some don't have anything better to do than make up unkind things.”  
  
“Thank you Mr. Gamgee,” Frodo said.  
  
“I also came up here to ask if you might be able to spare Sam for a few hours.”  
  
“I think so,” Frodo said slowly.  
  
“Much appreciated, sir. Hamson is headed back early tomorrow and I was hoping Sam could have dinner with the family.”  
  
“Dinner?” Sam asked.  
  
“Early dinner,” Ham said quietly, “we'll get you back up here before dark.” Sam bit his lip and nodded.  
  
“That sounds very nice,” Frodo said turning to Sam, “I am sorry all this trouble has kept you from spending time with your brother.”  
  
“That's alright, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said.  
  
“Hamson will be back again soon enough, never you mind it, sir,” Hamfast said nodding, “well, how about you come down at three, eh Sam?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“See you then, lad,” the gardener turned back to the door, “Mr. Frodo,” he nodded as he left. The door shut, leaving them in silence. Frodo turned to watch the old gardener amble down the path.  
  
“You haven't seen Hamson in, what, two years? I feel rather guilty.”  
  
“You needn't,” Sam said, dropping his voice low, and sending Frodo a close look, “Truly. Hamson isn't my favorite brother.”  
  
“Sam,” Frodo laughed as Sam sent him a slightly sheepish look.  
  
“Sir, I don't feel... exactly easy, leaving.”  
  
“It's only the Row.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said slowly.  
  
“I know,” Frodo sighed, “I almost asked your father to come back and walk you to and from the Row. He'd have thought I was cracked.”  
  
“You needn't worry, sir. If there's trouble, a shout will bring help.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo agreed. He lifted his head and regarded Sam. “Thank you for staying up here. And, for putting up with my friends. And... well. All of it,” he added, “I really do feel easier with you here.” Sam's face brightened.  
  
“I feel easier being up here too,” Sam said quietly, “I'd worry so if I weren't here.” Frodo felt himself smiling and cast his gaze down, afraid too much of his heart was in his eyes.  
  
“Well. I won't have you worrying,” he said. He cleared his throat, continuing, “let me give you something to take down to your family. A hen maybe? I got a few at market.”  
  
“That’s nice of you, but you needn’t trouble yourself,” Sam said.  
  
“No, I insist. It’s the least I can do.” Frodo said, leading him down toward the cool cellar, “let's go pick one out.” Sam smiled.  
  
“Alright. Thank you, sir.”

<>O<>O<>O<>  

The day slipped by, and after a while Merry took a break. He hadn’t found anything very promising. He had realized early on that he didn't really know what magical things were supposed to look like. He'd thought to look for uncanny oddments, but unfortunately, uncanny oddments abounded in Bag End. Still, Merry had a feeling that none of Bilbo's odd collection were really items of protection. Frodo and Pippin had taken up the search, climbing up into the crawl space that served as Bag End's attic.  
  
There was a knock at the front door. Merry stood and stepped out into the hall.  
  
“Frodo,” he called and waited, but there was no answer. Sam had left a while ago and the only sound came from Fatty down the hall, singing while he took his bath. Merry paused a moment, and the knocking came again. He sighed and went down the hallway toward the front entrance. He opened the door and found Jolly Cotton on the front step.  
  
“Good afternoon, Jolly,” he said.  
  
“I beg your pardon Mr. Merry,” Jolly said uncomfortably, “I don’t mean to disturb you, but Sam said we were to come and see the Master if there was any more trouble.”  
  
“Trouble?” Merry asked, suddenly alert. Jolly nodded.  
  
“I'm afraid Bugsey Turnplow drowned last night,” he said in a hushed tone, “they found him this morning in the Bywater Pool.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Merry breathed, “I am sorry to hear that. Do we know what he was doing there?” A polite way to ask if he was soused. Jolly glanced at him.  
  
“Nay. He had no cause to be there. And no drink in him. Least he didn't smell of it.”  
  
“Oh dear. How terrible. Has he a family?”  
  
“Sir,” Jolly said, urgency in his voice, “folks think Mr. Frodo is behind it.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Revenge for the mushrooms,” Jolly whispered. Merry felt his mouth drop open. He pulled himself together and shook his head.  
  
“You're telling me they think Frodo murdered another hobbit? That’s absurd.” Jolly took a breath, looking pained.  
  
“I'm afraid, sir, you see,” he stumbled along, “the way talk has been. Some of the folk don’t think Mr. Frodo _is_ a hobbit,” Jolly’s voice sound weak, “not a _proper_ hobbit anyway.”  
  
“Not a proper hobbit?” Merry heard the weakness in his own voice, “you mean they think he's outlandish?”  
  
“It's not just that anymore. There's talk of fairy blood. The wizard friend. Strange guests and secret treasure. That he don’t age. It’s all...” Jolly paused, his cheeks flushed, “the Hornblowers have about convinced some folks that Mr. Frodo is some kind of creature.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“They say there was magic at work last night. Folk in Bywater saw a strange fog roll over the Water. And there were fairy lights. Strange silvery lights winking in and out like fireflies. But it isn't the right season.” Jolly shook his head, “folk said it was Baggins magic. For the only queerness that comes close to this always come from the Bagginses or else their wizard friend.”  
  
“But,” Merry said pained, “these people have known Frodo for decades! They can't-”  
  
“Some in town never have liked him. Some don't know him. Especially the country folks,” Jolly sighed and raised his gaze, “most in Hobbiton proper think the Hornblowers are talking nonsense. But there's too many for comfort who give heed to their talk.”  
  
“How many? Any idea?” Merry asked, feeling panic bubble up from deep inside him.  
  
“Hard to say for sure. There were only a hand full paying attention last night when the Hornblowers held sway outside of the Dragon. But I just seen a dozen or so hobbits standing with the Hornblowers while they talk their bile.”  
  
“A dozen isn't so bad,” Merry said, but he didn't feel much relief. Jolly only stared.  
  
“A dozen can do a bit of damage,” Jolly said quietly. “I'm afraid there's more.”  
  
“I don't know how much more I can take,” Merry groaned. Jolly gave him a worried look, “Oh, go on please. Best get it out.”  
  
“They think Bugsey died a drowning true, but something had been at work on the body, for it weren't all there. Folks in town say dogs, maybe. Some even said it's the wolf,” Jolly winced, “but I seen things a dog's been at. This was different. There was,” he paused and swayed a little. Merry thought for a moment the farmer might be sick, “there was cut marks. Like someone carved him,” Jolly whispered. “No one wants to even talk about that. But it's what I saw.”  
  
“Oh Jolly,” Merry breathed. Jolly nodded and closed his eyes.  
  
“You know, and I know, that there’s no harm in the Master, but the folks in town have been listening to Mr. Lotho. And the Hornblowers. The ones who had no love for the Bagginses to begin with are stirring the other ones up. I don’t mean to worry you sir,” Jolly paused, “but it could get bad for Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“I know,” Merry said quietly.  
  
“Do you think that maybe the Master could go to Buckland for a while?” he asked and added, “I don’t mean to tell you sirs what to do, but I’ve never seen the lads so hot on something like this. It’s like there’s something bad in the air, fouling folk up. I think Mr. Frodo could be in real danger.”  
  
“He couldn’t just leave,” Merry said grimly, “Frodo won’t do that.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo’s been good to us,” Jolly said softly, “to my family and to the Gamgees of course. I couldn’t bear it if he were hurt on account of this,” he raised his chin and stared at Merry, “You call on the Cotton farm if trouble comes.”  
  
“We will,” Merry said, “Thank you Jolly.” He held out his hand and Jolly stared down at it for a moment, then slowly he shook Merry’s hand. The farmer son turned away and went back down the path. Merry watched him a moment, then turned and went back inside, closing the door and bolting it. He went down the hall in a daze. Pieces were fitting together in his mind and conjuring a very frightening picture. A cold realization hit him hard and Merry felt his hands begin to shake.  
  
“Frodo! Pippin!” he cried.  
  
“Back here! Parlor!” came Pippin's voice. Merry let out a breath of relief as he almost raced down Bag End's long hallway. He entered the parlor to find Frodo and Pippin seated before the fire, chatting. They looked up as he entered. Merry felt the burn of tears in his eyes, but he pulled himself together and went in, sitting with them.  
  
“Find anything?” he managed.  
  
“No luck,” Pippin sighed, “just a bunch of mathoms and junk. Uncle Bilbo was such a packrat.”  
  
“Merry?” came Frodo's voice. Merry looked up to find Frodo watching him. “Are you alright?” Merry suddenly felt like he was seven again.  
  
“I think,” he said, hearing his voice crack, “I think you both almost died yesterday.” The tears fell now and Merry was powerless to stop them. He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head, trying to hide how distraught he was. A moment later he felt arms around him, and he opened his eyes to see Frodo peering at him.  
  
“Don't cry, Merry,” Pippin said. He'd crawled over to his side and his voice sounded worried. Merry tried to pull himself together. Frodo's arms tightened around his shoulders.  
  
“What's this about?” Frodo asked quietly.  
  
“Jolly Cotton was just here,” Merry said, taking a breath to steady himself. “He said that Bugsey Turnplow was found drowned this morning at the Bywater Pool.”  
  
“Terrible,” Frodo breathed.  
  
“And he said that there were hobbits who saw strange lights and fog over the Pool last night.”  
  
“Strange fog?” Frodo breathed, frowning.  
  
“And lights,” Merry nodded, “They said they were winking in and out, like fireflies. But not the yellow-green color. They said it was silvery. And besides, it's much too late in the season for it to be fireflies.”  
  
“Ghosts of fireflies past,” Pippin said listlessly. Merry shot the boy a look, but Pippin was staring at the floor, his face uncharacteristically grim.  
  
“I talked with Sam this morning,” Merry said quietly, “about what happened last night, when you went to the door,” he looked up into Frodo's face. Frodo gazed at him, a slight alarm coming into his face.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Sam said you spoke of Elves when he found you, in some kind of a daze- which you don't remember. And he said there were lights around you, at least for a moment.” He let out a breath, “Silvery lights. Winking in and out. He called them fairy lights.”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Frodo whispered.  
  
“Maybe when the thing failed to catch you,” Merry continued, “it tried for another- one that it already had its hooks in. Bugsey told Fatty he'd seen an Elf. And that he'd felt enchanted by it. Out of all the hobbits in Hobbiton and Bywater- do you really think it's a coincidence that it's Bugsey, the one hobbit who encountered some creature. Some creature bent on killing you?”  
  
“Merry,” Frodo breathed and he pulled Merry close.  
  
“But why go after Bugsey? Isn't Frodo the target?” Pippin asked quietly.  
  
“Maybe it was hungry,” Merry breathed and shook, “Bugsey drowned, but his body had been... cut. He wasn't all there.” He opened his eyes and caught sight of Pippin staring at him, looking pale and terrified. He reached out and Pippin moved close, ducking under Merry's arm, joining their huddle.  
  
“When the both of you passed through the birch stand yesterday,” Merry sniffed, “you say you don’t remember what happened. You came out dazed, just like Frodo was last night. I think it was all the same creature- drawing Bugsey into the Pool, drawing Frodo from his bed, stalking you two in the trees. I think it almost... You both could have been...” Frodo didn't say anything, just tucked both of them closer. Merry could feel him shaking.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Sam stretched, pushing his plate back and cast a gaze warily around the smial. If he wasn’t careful Daisy would have him a list of after dinner chores. Hamson stood and took out his bag of weed. He glanced toward the Gaffer, already sitting by the fire, dozing. He chuckled and looked to Sam, walking past his chair.  
  
“Come out back,” Hamson said, briefly gripping his brother’s shoulder before moving past him to the back of the smial and out onto the back porch. Sam stood and followed slowly, easing the door closed behind him. Hamson stood staring out over the party field, leaning against the porch rail.  
  
“Fine afternoon,” Sam said, going to stand by his brother. Hamson smiled and glanced at him.  
  
“How are you Samwise?” he asked.  
  
“Alright,” Sam said as Hamson took out his pipe and lit it.  
  
“Does Da let you smoke yet?” he asked softly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam said, feeling a scowl. He may have been of age for years but his older brothers tended to still see him as a tween. Hamson grinned at him and handed him the pipe. Sam took it and puffed it contentedly, before blowing out a thin stream of smoke. He handed it back to his brother.  
  
“How is Uncle Andy?” Sam asked.  
  
“Well,” Hamson replied, “How is Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“Well,” Sam said. Hamson hummed. They stood in silence for a moment, Hamson calmly smoking beside him.  
  
“Tis strange, this bad business around the Hill,” Hamson said darkly. Sam nodded grimly.  
  
“Aye,” he said.  
  
“You’re taking care of it,” Hamson said, and it wasn’t a question. Sam nodded all the same. “Da is proud of you for that,” Hamson said leaning back a bit, “He’s always been a little over protective of the Bagginses if you ask me, but then I guess that comes of working for them.” Sam glanced at his brother, frowning. Hamson laughed. “Don’t scowl at me Samwise. I ain’t like you. I don’t have no patience for fairies and Elves and Baggins ways. Why do you think I run off to Tighfeild? I ain’t tending the garden of some cracked hobbit likely to go getting himself into trouble. He’ll drag you into it, see if he don’t.”  
  
“You wouldn’t tend no garden noways,” Sam huffed, “You don’t like getting your hands dirty and you don’t have no head for plant lore. Don’t blame that on any Baggins.” Hamson snorted and laughed. Sam shook his head. “Anyway, you’d not tend that garden. Not after Mr. Bilbo caught you in his potting shed with Mimosa Twofoot.” Hamson cast a sly look at his brother.  
  
“And are you courting yet Samwise?” Hamson asked, “Or does Da not let you do that yet?” Sam peered at his brother, feeling annoyed.  
  
“I don’t tell Da everything I do,” he said.  
  
“That’s probably for the best,” Hamson said nodding, “You want I should tell you how to get a lass to lay down with you? Maybe teach you how to get someone into that potting shed yourself?” Sam crossed his arms.  
  
“You’re a few years too late on that,” he said sharply.  
  
“Oh ho! Little Sammy has grown up,” Hamson laughed, “And here I was worried your head was so filled up with Frodo Baggins that you hadn’t gotten round to lovemaking.” Sam flushed, with embarrassment and anger and glared at his brother. “Well I guess even moonshine and Elves aren’t enough to make a Gamgee forget his prick.”  
  
“And what of you?” Sam asked, “I ent heard naught about new babes for you and Prim. Is your head too full of rope hemp to remember your prick?” Hamson chuckled and blew out a ring of smoke.  
  
“Don't you worry about that Samwise,” he said, “I'd like to get back to her, but I could stay, if you need… that is, if this business is as bad as Da says, maybe I should stay and help you.” Sam thought about it for a moment but shook his head. He didn’t want his family involved in these troubles. It wasn’t that Hamson wasn’t brave, but Hamson, like Hamfast before him, was the type of Gamgee that balked at anything that wasn’t firmly rooted in predictability; in their family it was only Sam and Marigold that had any stomach for the unexpected.  
  
“I’ve got it handled,” Sam said, “But I thank you.”

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Merry gripped his tea cup and stared at Frodo.  
  
“Please come to Buckland,” he pleaded, “or the Great Smials. This isn't anything we can handle on our own.” Frodo sent him a look.  
  
“I'm afraid it never was anything we could handle on our own,” he said gently. They were all in the parlor now; Fatty had found them huddled together and without asking what the matter was, had gone to make tea. He brought it in short order and now they were all sitting around the hearth, drinking chamomile.  
  
“My family will protect you, Frodo,” Fatty said, “there's so many Bolgers, and all of them would swear oaths to keep you safe.”  
  
“So will my dad,” Pippin said.  
  
“Do you really think there are hobbits able to protect me- able to protect themselves at the Great Smials or at Brandy Hall or at any of the Bolger estates? Against this?” Frodo asked.  
  
“It's got to be better than nothing,” Merry said.  
  
“Bag End has kept me safe so far,” Frodo said slowly.  
  
“Barely! And that was down to Sam dragging you back inside!”  
  
“If I go to Tookland or Buckland or the North Farthing then I'm stuck there. There will be a fuss and panic. And those places aren't fortresses,” Frodo closed his eyes, “the Bounders are coming. And they are coming here. Tomorrow.”  
  
“You put a lot of faith in Bounders!”  
  
“It's not just Bounders coming.”  
  
“What?” Merry demanded. Frodo flicked his gaze up.  
  
“Sorry. I didn't want to worry you. The Bounder I spoke with has recruited some... colleagues. He called them Watchers. They're Big People.”  
  
“I know who the Watchers are!” Merry said, his voice raised a little, “Frodo! You're trusting in wild men!”  
  
“Wild men who protect the Shire,” Frodo said, “who fight these things every day,” he closed his eyes shuddering, “I think they're my best bet. Other than fleeing. And where would I go?” Merry and Pippin exchanged looks.  
  
There was a pounding on the door.  
  
“What now?” Merry groaned, rising. They all went down the hallway and Frodo opened the door. A young hobbit who Merry didn't know stared at them, wide-eyed.  
  
“Mr. Baggins!” the hobbit said and snatched his cap off, “I'm sorry to bother you.”  
  
“I am sorry Hob,” Frodo said, “this isn't a good time. Give your mother my regards.”  
  
“Sorry sir, tis a matter of urgency, sir!”  
  
“Yes?” Frodo said, opening the door again, giving the hobbit a hard look.  
  
“You need to leave. There’s a gang of lads on their way here and they want drag you off to the lockholes.”  
  
“What?” Frodo barked at him. “Don’t be stupid. Is this some joke my cousin Lotho has put you up to?”  
  
“No sir!” Hob protested.  
  
“Is this about Bugsey Turnplow?” Merry growled, “Frodo had nothing to do with it.”  
  
“They’re not marching here for Turnplow. There's a little girl gone missing.” He raised his eyes, “a few in town was just about decided it was Mr. Frodo to blame for Bugsey, but no one knew what to do about it. Now, with little Dandy Browntree missing, they're sure of their course.” Frodo stiffened. “They're on their way here.”  
  
“They are free to come and see me,” he said quietly, “I've nothing to hide from them.”  
  
“They mean to do you a violence,” Hob said, his voice hushed.  
  
“They are my fellow hobbits,” Frodo said, “they might be angry, they might try and harm me, but once they see-”  
  
“Frodo,” Merry hissed.  
  
“And they’d not dare to drag me to Michel Delving,” Frodo sniffed, “they've no authority.”  
  
“They might,” Hob admitted, “you see, Mr. Lotho is leading them. And he's got some Shirriffs.” The four gentlehobbits stood in shocked silence. “Sir, I'm afraid you've not much time. The lads was right behind me,” Hob said, “you need to get out of sight.” Frodo stepped back, stung.  
  
“Why are you telling us this?” Frodo demanded, “Lotho is your friend isn't he?” Hob looked pained.  
  
“I’m doing it cause he’s my friend. Lotho don’t see what a bad situation he's got himself into. And also,” he broke off, wincing, “I done wrong by you Mr. Frodo, and I want to try and fix it if I can.”

  
“Oh?”   
  
“T'was me, you see, who poisoned Sam Gamgee yesterday.” Frodo’s face drained of color and he stepped forward, his fists clenched so that his knuckles were white. Merry felt the breath leave him. He’d never seen Frodo so furious. Pippin sprang foreword and caught Frodo’s shoulders.  
  
“It’s not worth it,” he hissed in Frodo’s ear. Merry stepped in front of the them fixing Hob in a hard look.  
  
“You need to leave right now,” he said. Hob stepped back then nodded and retreated, without another word. “This conversation isn’t over, Hob, I will have words with you at a later time,” Merry called.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Hob called as he ran off. Merry caught his breath a moment, then turned to see Frodo staring after Hob as the young hobbit ran off. He looked like he wanted to run after him and pummel him.   
  
“Where can we go?” Merry asked sharply. he needed Frodo to focus, “where is a good place to hide around here?” Frodo only turned to him and blinked, looking slightly dazed. “What about the Gamgees? Hasn’t the Gaffer a root cellar we could hide in?”  
  
“No,” Frodo said, “I don’t want the Gamgees involved in this. Besides, if they don’t find me at Bag End don’t you think Number Three will be the next place they search?”  
  
“Then where do we go?” Fatty asked.  
  
“Tookland,” Pippin hissed. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“I'm not going to endanger the Tooks,” he said.  
  
“Tooks like a little danger!” Pippin said, trying to keep his voice light. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“There is an abandoned hole on one of my properties to the north,” Frodo said slowly. Near Bindbole wood.”  
  
“How well known is it?”  
  
“Not at all. I stumbled on it during one of my walks. It's not on any map,” Frodo said, his voice still bewildered. “We can get there before dark and hide the night at least.” Merry nodded.  
  
“I’ll gather a few thing. We’ll need provisions and gear if we’re to stay out there. I’ll meet you in a few minutes, under the stone bridge.”  
  
“One of you go tell Sam,” Frodo said.  
  
“I'll go,” Fatty said.  
  
“Oh!” Merry cried, staring down toward the road. He could just spot a crowd of hobbits moving under the trees. There were no more words. Merry ran to the parlor and retrieved his dagger in its holster and snatched the fire poker from the grate. He ran back down the hall catching up Pippin and Frodo as they passed out the back door. Merry gave Frodo the dagger and Pippin the fire poker. They sent him wide-eyed looks before turning away. Pippin took Frodo by the shoulder and steered him out into the back garden and into the shadows under the trees.  
  
Merry caught a breath and forced the painful tightness from his throat. He darted back inside, locking the back door, then ran to the front, locking it as well. He'd pack as much as he could while the locks held, then use the secret passage to make his escape. He grabbed a bag and ran to the pantry, cramming dry food into the pack. He could hear shouts from outside and Merry had to try and steady his hands.  
  
He recalled Bilbo then, telling them all when they were children that there were things in life that a hobbit just had to face up to, even when it seemed more prudent to just go hide somewhere and let trouble work itself out. Frodo had sat up then, the oldest and boldest of any of them, and said,  
  
“Oh, is that why you hid from the Elves when they captured all the dwarves and held them in the Elf King’s prison?” he had asked cheekily. Bilbo scowled at him.  
  
“That was strategy, boy,” he said pointedly, “And precisely an example of what I am trying to tell you lads,” he said, pretending to be upset, but even Merry at that young age could see past the scowl to Bilbo’s shining eyes. “I realized then that if anything was to be accomplished then it would have to be done by Mr. Bilbo Baggins, all alone and with no help from anybody.”  
  
“That’s right! He-” came a voice from behind them. Merry had turned to see Samwise Gamgee, rag in hand as he paused from his dusting. Sam stopped and gasped as everyone turned. He ducked his head but Bilbo waved.  
  
“Nay lad, what were you going to say?”  
  
Sam had paused then, glancing down nervously at Frodo who was watching him.   
  
“Only that, begging your pardon Master Frodo, but Mr. Bilbo had to hide, so he'd not get captured," the young gardener turned his face up, his gaze settling on Bilbo, "And then Mr. Bilbo didn’t just stay hidden away and let the trouble work itself out. He could have left the dwarves in that prison and saved himself, but Mr. Bilbo went into that great gated hall not knowing if he could ever get out again, because he couldn’t leave his friends behind. That was very brave of you sir.” Bilbo had looked startled and pleased.  
  
Merry flinched at the sound of pounding on a door and came back to the present. He tied the bag closed and exited the pantry, his eyes darting around for anything else that he might grab.  
  
_If I had my way I'd go fight these louts,_ Merry thought, _but I'd not win and I'd do Frodo no good, No it's time to hide and then we'll do whatever we can to protect him and get him out of this mess._ That thought steadied him. _No matter the danger, we'll not let Frodo face these troubles alone._  
  
He ran down to the cool cellar and sprung the secret latch, opening a hidden passage. From above he heard the sound of wood splintering. Merry darted into the darkness, and pulled the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam being struck by Bilbo's story was my unsubtle way of pointing out a connection between Bilbo going to rescue the dwarves from Elf jail and Sam storming Cirith Ungol to rescue Frodo. 
> 
> Bingo was Tolkien's original name for Frodo.


	13. Those Cold September Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In some ways it’s hard to wrap your head around hobbits being suspicious of outsiders, closed/small minded judgmental defensive busybodies AND also never murder each other or even really commit crimes against one another - mushroom pilfering aside - or anyone else. So that their range of evil stops at “asshole”. I think I’ve probably written them a little more hard edged here but I’m sticking with the no outright hobbit on hobbit murder. Frodo and his friends might joke about it, but they are a little more used to reading about it than the other hobbits. So anyway, that mob was not out to kill Frodo- but it was one of Lotho’s test runs for things to come.
> 
> For this chapter, the unnecessary Victorian chapter subscript (imagine flowery font) is: ~in which the Sam Gamgee shit list grows exceeding long~
> 
> Thanks for reading and thank you so much for the nice comments. I'm happy people are enjoying the fic. <3

Merry made his way out of the hole, now weighed down by a sack. As he came out in the small garden down the hillside slope, he could hear hobbits on the road on the far side. He slipped down into the bracken and worked his way down the hill, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible. When he reached the bottom of the hill, he darted into a clump of trees that ran along the back lane that led to the orchards. If he could follow the curve of the lane and cut through the fields he thought he could reach the bridge in a few minutes.  
  
He stopped and froze, listening intently. His concern now was that he had been spotted, or would be, and that he would be leading the mob to Frodo and Pippin. Merry dithered only for a moment, more but it was long enough for him to hear a loud splintering of wood. His eyes widened. _What were they doing? Oh. Never mind it. It can't be helped,_  Merry told himself and turned back to the trees.  
  
There was a sharp cry that rang out from up on the hill. Merry gasped and turned. That was Sam's voice! He hung in the shadows only a moment more, then stowed his bag in the roots of a tree and sprinted back up the lane. He just needed to see that Sam was alright. _Fatty must not have gotten to him in time!_ Merry thought, _or if he had, it hadn't made any difference._ Sam's voice came again and though Merry couldn't hear words at this distance he could hear the fury in Sam's voice, demanding and aggressive. Merry closed his eyes. _He's going to get himself hurt or in the very least arrested._  
  
He came around the side of the hill, sinking down into the bushes, to peer up at the front entrance of Bag End. There was a crowd up there, standing on the steps, inside Frodo's little gate. And the door was- Merry had to blink to try and understand what he was seeing – the door was splintered open. There was a hobbit with an ax, standing beside it.  
  
“Well Frodo really will murder someone when he sees that door,” Merry muttered to himself. The crowd was moving, hobbits pressing in around a central point within the circle. There were flashes of limbs and jerking movements. Someone was fighting and by the sounds, not doing well. Merry gritted his teeth.  
  
“Dammit Sam! You can’t fight half of Hobbiton!” Merry hissed under his breath. Where was Fatty? Another string of Sam's cries came and he was shouting loud enough that Merry could make out a few of the obscenity laced cries. The crowd moved in and Merry saw Sam thrust down into the dirt. Then the hobbits moved in on him, beating him. Merry stood and ran up the Hill.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Fatty knew he'd been too slow. He knew this even as he sprinted through the party field and spotted the row families out in front of their homes, watching and in the case of a few, shouting at the party of lads moving up the Hill. Fatty put on a burst of speed and reached the backdoor of Number Three and knocked hard.  
  
A moment later the door opened and one of the Gamgee sisters peered at him.  
  
“You! Inside now!” She hissed and pulled him in a little roughly. “Come on!” Fatty gasped at the lapse in manners but then he supposed she must be very frightened to have hobbits marching past her windows.  
  
“My dear lady,” he began. She gave him a look and Fatty clamped his mouth shut. _Not frightened,_ he realized, _no she is quite angry, isn't she?_ He was disconcerted to see that the hole was empty.  
  
“Where is Mr. Frodo?” she demanded.  
  
“Safe. Er, for now. I must speak with Sam,” he said. She snorted and pulled him toward the front entrance. Fatty noted with a little alarm that there was a collection of dangerous looking garden tools and an assortment of blunt instruments piled on the table. It seemed he'd interrupted her as she gathered potential arms.  
  
“Look up yonder,” she told him. Fatty leaned out, gazing through the little round window. Sam was up on the hillside surrounded by a group of hobbits. He was fighting all of them.  
  
“What's he doing?” he gasped. The Gamgee sister snorted.  
  
“Doing what he always does! Doing for Mr. Frodo!” she said through her teeth, “Go get that fool brother of mine,” she grasped a thick walking stick and thrust it into his hands, adding, “if you would please, sir.”  
  
“I will try,” Fatty sighed and went out through the front door.

Ahead of him, Fatty spotted Sam’s brother. He too was yelling but as he reached the crowd he was buffered back. Fatty put on a burst of speed and looked over to see Merry, also running up the Hill. They traded glances.  
  
_What's he doing?_ Fatty thought, _he shouldn't be here!_ But it was too late now. They came to the top of the Hill.  
  
“What do you hobbits think you are doing!” Merry shouted, his forceful Brandybuck fury on full display. Fatty blinked. Well, maybe it was good that Merry was here. The crowd went quiet. “Take your hands off him!” Merry cried, out, striding into the crowd, completely unintimidated by their numbers. Fatty stood up straighter and followed Merry, sending his own affronted looks. He was a Bolger, after all, and he could act just as forceful and in charge as any Brandybuck.  
  
“You should all be ashamed!” Fatty scolded and a few of the hobbits went sheepish.  
  
“Cousin Merry,” Lotho's voice came from the front of the crowd. The other hobbits stepped out of his way. Fatty eyes the group of hobbits behind him, wearing caps with feathers in them. One of them stood up from a crouch and Fatty realized the hobbit had been the one beating Sam. He felt a chill as he caught sight of Sam's crumpled form. He wasn't moving. Sam's brother let out a cry and pushed through the crowd to kneel at his brother's side, shaking his shoulder. Fatty pressed through the crowd, drawing closer. Sam had been knocked cold, by the looks of it. His brother pressed a hand to Sam's chest.  
  
“Can you tell anything?” Fatty asked quietly, gripping the walking stick he'd been given. Hamson looked up at him and blinked.  
  
“Breathing okay. Maybe no cracked ribs?” he said shakily.  
  
“Come on, let's get him inside,” Fatty said quietly and made to help lift Sam.  
  
“None of that!” a Shirriff said, stepping in front of him, “that boy attacked one of my Shirriffs. He's under arrest.  
  
“He's knocked cold!” Fatty growled, “you can't arrest someone when they're hurt!”  
  
“Yes we can, Mr.-?”  
  
“Fredegard Bolger,” Fatty snapped, as he caught sight of Sam's father pushing through the crowd trying to reach them, “and if you try to arrest him you're going to have to deal with me.”  
  
“And me,” Merry's voice came from behind. Hamfast was joined by one of the other Gamgee sisters. Fatty thought it might be Daisy.  
  
“Go and get Mrs. Grubb,” Fatty told the oldest Gamgee son, “she's some training in healing, hasn't she?” Hamson sent a look to his father, who nodded. He stood and, pushing his way out of the crowd, went down the hill. Hamfast took up the spot beside his son, while Daisy stood over them both, sending looks of barely contained fury at the hobbits around her.  
  
“Meriadoc,” Lotho said slowly, as if he were enjoying this spectacle. “Where is Frodo?” Merry took a breath.  
  
“He's gone to Buckland,” he said through a clenched jaw. Lotho snorted.  
  
“Not likely. Or you'd be with him.”  
  
“I have business in the West Farthing,” Merry said, “and I'm smial sitting. When Frodo finds out what you've done-”  
  
“What business?” Lotho interrupted. Merry squinted.  
  
“Farm surveys,” he said tersely, “when Frodo finds out what you've done- breaking into his home! Ruining his door! Beating his servant!- you're going to have some trouble on your hands, cousin.”  
  
“T'was all sanctioned by the Rules, sir,” said one of the Shirriffs, fixing Merry with a hard look. “Now where did you say the suspect has gone to? Buckland was it?”  
  
“Suspect!” Fatty snorted.  
  
“And where in Buckland if you please? And what is your relationship to the suspect?” another of the Shirriffs asked, eyeing them both.  
  
“I want to know what this is all about, first!” Merry snarled.  
  
“That's right,” Fatty said, narrowing his eyes, “we're not answering any questions until you hobbits explain yourself, and you will do it off this Hill. You are all trespassing.”  
  
“Beggin’ pardon Mr. Brandybuck, Mr. Bolger,” said one of the more rustic hobbits, “but we thought as Mr. Baggins had got little Dandy Browntree up here.” But even as he said it more of the older hobbits turned hostile looks to Merry.  
  
“Yes where is Baggins?” another shouted. “We’ll follow him to Buckland or to the end of the Shire for this. We don’t let nobody run off with a babe.”  
  
“I say it's lies. Baggins isn't gone to Buckland. He's here!” Nick Hornblower shouted.  
  
“Yes,” Lotho said, “I think he's here. Someone would have noticed if Frodo went off to Buckland.”  
  
“Here that? Dandy is here, dead or alive!”  
  
“Nonsense!” Fatty shouted at them, “there is no one here and if some child has really gone missing and isn't just off playing somewhere then you must know that Frodo had nothing to do with it!”  
  
“Oh? So Mr. Baggins has naught to do with the strange things happening of late?” one of the Shirriffs asked.  
  
“He has nothing to do with a child going missing,” Merry said in a very hard voice, “he has gone to Buckland and that is all there is to it.”  
  
“If he has, then he's taken the little girl to Buckland for the sacrifice. Mad Baggins is behind this!” one of the crowd shouted.  
  
“Yeah! Mad Baggins! Disappearing children and the like!” Gerald Hornblower cried out.  
  
“Ridiculous!” Fatty said, but he could sense the crowd closing in on him and Merry.  
  
“That’s his cousin and his friend, I say we take them prisoner until we find the rat!” shouted a voice. Merry breathed deeply and sent Fatty a panicked look. His authority had failed. Farmers from the sticks had only a vague idea of who the Master of Buckland was. Fatty prepared himself for the crowd to close in on him and take them.  
  
“You lot,” said a low gruff voice, “won't be touching those lads.” Fatty turned to see Hamfast Gamgee stand and survey the crowd. “Not lest you want a very hard fight on your hands. We on the Row won't stand for this nonsense.”  
  
“If you fight, you'll be arrested,” one of the Shirriffs growled at the old gardener. Hamfast only glanced at him.  
  
“I've spoke my piece,” he said and gazed across the crowd. Fatty followed his gaze and saw that the entire Row was assembled behind the crowd. They stared at the hobbits with open hostility.  
  
“Mr. Frodo didn't do none of what you folk say he done,” Daddy Twofoot shouted.  
  
“He's a good Master and you all ought to be ashamed!” the Widow cried out.  
  
“Shirriffs, gentlehobbits or no, we'll fight all of you!”  
  
“Sam's had the right idea!” Lily Twofoot yelled out.  
  
Lotho stared out at the crowd and frowned. Fatty realized with glee that Lotho would come out the worse for anything he might try now. Lotho might be willing to risk injury to his little band of riff raff and friendly Shirriffs, but he also had the rest of the West Farthing gentry's opinions to consider. Roughing up Sam Gamgee was one thing, but if he wanted to be Master of the Hill he could not fight women and children. Furiously Lotho turned on them.  
  
“Frodo didn't go to Buckland,” he said between his teeth. Merry narrowed his eyes and didn’t answer. “Search the woods!” he shouted, “He might be hiding. This Brandybuck is a liar and I think Mad Baggins is still about. We’ll find him!” The crowd looked almost as angry as Lotho, but did as he directed. Fatty stood stock-still, praying that Frodo and Pippin had gotten away and tried not to show anything on his face. Merry sent him a wide-eyed look but kept his silence. Numbly he moved to Sam and knelt trying to assess the damage. Hamfast let out a breath and went to Merry's side, laying a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Thank you, my lad,” he said in a quiet voice. Merry smiled weakly.  
  
“No, thank you Master Gamgee,” he said shakily, “You’re the one who saved us.” The Gaffer waved off his thanks and studied his son.  
  
“Let's get Sam inside,” Fatty said quietly. He didn't want to risk the Shirriffs remembering their plan to arrest Sam. It seemed prudent to get him out of sight. Between Merry and Fatty they lifted Sam and brought him into Bag End, stepping around the broken slabs of the green door.  
  
“Head to the kitchen,” Merry said, “better light and Frodo keeps all manner of first aid things in the pantry closet.” They brought Sam to the long oak table and laid him out there.  
  
“Er,” Merry said wincing and glancing at Fatty, “I left a sack of food out back.”  
  
“Why are you here?” Fatty said under his breath, “you were supposed to-”  
  
“I couldn't just let those lads beat Sam,” Merry hissed at him.  
  
“I could have handled that,” Fatty complained. Merry only sent him a look. Well, no, maybe he couldn't have. “If you go on, you can still meet them,” he added in an undertone. Merry sighed and shook his head.  
  
“Too late for that,” he murmured.  
  
“He's in here,” Daisy called from the front stoop. They turned to see Hamson and Mistress Grubb entering the smial, Daisy trailing behind them.  
  
“Goodness,” Mrs. Grubb huffed, seeing Sam, “those wicked hobbits,” she added with venom.  
  
“Thank you for coming up Petunia,” Hamfast said and went to take her bag as the old hobbitwoman went to stand by Sam's head and put her fingers to his neck.  
  
“We need guards,” Merry said, but his voice had lost it's authority and came out sounding very tired. None the less, Hamson turned and nodded. Without another word, he went out down the hall and stationed himself in front of the threshold. Fatty, leaning against the door frame between the hallway and the kitchen watched as Hamson was joined by the Gamgee sister who had been down at Number Three. She held an armful of her assorted arsenal and she paused to hand a blunt stick to her brother.  
  
“Thanks Marigold,” Hamson said. More of the Row folk came to the front and stood or sat in front of the door, peering outward, keeping watch over the Hill. Fatty closed his eyes. _They love Frodo enough to risk themselves,_ he thought in surprise, _they really do._

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Merry stood in the kitchen, watching blankly as the hobbit woman ground herbs and gave Daisy and Hamfast quiet directions.  
  
There were sounds of an argument on the front stoop- it seemed some of the Shirriffs were insisting that they search Bag End and the Row hobbits were disagreeing with some force. The Shirriffs seemed to be losing so Merry paid it little mind. Instead, he went to Frodo's cabinet in the pantry closet and retrieved his basket of salves, pills, and lineaments. Mrs. Grubb began applying salve to Sam’s swollen head. Merry sat, feeling useless and unsure of what he ought to do.  
  
He wanted to slip off and get to Frodo and Pippin but that was to risk being followed. He missed his chance. He sighed and hoped feverishly that Frodo had not waited long, that he was even now going to the hole where he could hide. Merry remembered games of hide and seek at Brandy hall in which Frodo had kept hobbit lads looking for him for hours with ingenious hiding places. But this wasn’t Brandy Hall and those weren’t lads on a summer afternoon looking for him. Merry peered at Sam, feeling terribly guilty, wishing that Sam would wake. As if in answer Grubb cried out,  
  
“He’s coming around now,” in her high-pitched voice. “There you are dear Samwise,” she cooed. Merry heard Sam’s gruff voice saying,  
  
“Move,” to Daisy as she hovered over him. Woozily Sam sat up and rubbed his head. Hamfast put a hand on his son's back, helping to keep him upright.  
  
“Sam-idiot,” Daisy scolded, “What were you doing running into that crowd cussing them and fighting them. Can’t you count?”  
  
“Where is Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked ignoring her.  
  
“I was wondering that me self,” Gaffer Gamgee said and looked to Merry. Despite himself, Merry shrank, feeling overwhelmed.  
  
“I don’t know,” he said. “Going as fast as he can away from here I hope.” Silence filled the kitchen and Merry glanced at Sam. He had to look away almost at once, for Sam's eyes were so wide and full of fear and pain. The Gaffer cleared his throat.  
  
“Petunia, thank you,” Hamfast said to the old hobbit woman, “we surely do appreciate you having a look at our Sam.” She smiled and bobbed her head.  
  
“Remember Samwise is to be watched tonight and not to sleep more than two hours at a time if you can manage it,” then she turned to Merry and continued, “And you, young lad, you keep those scoundrels from our Mr. Frodo. They meant to do him a real harm I believe.”  
  
“Yes m’m,” Merry said as the hobbit woman left the kitchen. Merry watched her go. He bit his lip and turned back to the Gamgees. “I'll tell you what I know, but let's find some place where we won't be overheard.” Merry had to pause, trying to think of the best place for such a conversation. His thoughts felt scattered and he was having a hard time focusing on anything other than numbing fear.  
  
“Cold cellar?” Sam murmured. Merry sent him a grateful look and nodded.  
  
They stepped down the few steps into the cool cellar and Sam lit the candle in the wall scone near the wine racks. Merry ushered Hamfast and Daisy in front of him and then bolted the door closed behind.  
  
“Hob Hatfield ran up here a while ago and gave us a warning. So we got Frodo out just in time,” Merry said, “he and Pippin went out back and I stayed behind to gather supplies. I was supposed to meet the at the stone bridge near the Water. Only,” he sighed, “well. Only I didn't make it.”  
  
“Mr. Merry saved you, Sam,” Daisy said softly, “I saw him run up the Hill after you. Mr. Merry and Mr. Fatty both.” Sam sent Merry and amazed look.  
  
“Did you have any plan after the bridge?” Hamfast asked. Merry nodded.  
  
“Frodo spoke of an abandoned hole on his property to the north. He said it was near Bindbole wood.” Hamfast frowned and glanced at Sam. Sam blinked and shook his head.  
  
“I don't know it, Da,” he said quietly.  
  
“Frodo and Pippin might still be at the bridge. They were to wait for me,” he said, his voice dropping away, “I was to bring supplies. They've no food, nor water. No flint nor matches. All they have is Pippin's dagger and a fire poker to defend themselves.” The cellar went quiet and Merry closed his eyes.  
  
“Even if you do your best to sneak off,” Hamfast said, “that Sackville-Baggins and his Shirriffs will be watching this whole Hill like a hawk. You’d do them no good, sir.” Merry opened his eyes and saw Sam looking grim. “What was that about a missing babe? What did that mob want with Mr. Frodo anyhow?” the Gaffer asked.  
  
“That’s the strangest bit,” Merry said turning his face up to look at the Gaffer, “It seems Lotho and the Hornblower brothers talked the crowd into believing Frodo took this child, Dandy Browntree. She went missing this afternoon apparently.”  
  
“It’s that stuff about the magic again,” Sam said scornfully.  
  
“They think Mr. Frodo kill’t a babe?” Gaffer Gamgee growled.  
  
“Yes,” Merry sighed.  
  
“No wonder,” Sam murmured. “Even Mr. Lotho couldn’t get a mob mad like that without something like a killed child.”  
  
“If we can get Frodo hidden away then our next step will be to find that child,” Merry said firmly. “That’s the only way.”  
  
“Where could she have got to?” the Gaffer asked. “Babes don’t just disappear, at least around here they don’t.”  
  
“Except that there have been all manner of creatures about,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Bugsey Turnplow died of some creature,” Merry said, “they found him this morning in Bywater.” Sam sat up.  
  
“What?”  
  
“That was another reason why folks were so on edge. They said it was magic at work. They saw strange fog and fairy lights over the Pool. And I think it's the same creature that went after Frodo and Pippin yesterday in the wood,” Merry said quietly, “and,” he paused and sent a look at the Gaffer.  
  
“Is this not meant for mine and Daisy's ears, sir?” the old hobbit asked. Merry felt heat in his face.  
  
“It's not that,” he said slowly, “it's just that I don't know how much of this you all want to be burdened with.”  
  
“No fear, Mr. Merry,” Daisy said quietly, “we Gamgees are made of stern stuff.” Merry found himself smiling.  
  
“I know that very well,” he said quietly, “I think the creature almost drew Frodo from his bed last night. He only wasn't taken because Sam went to him and brought him back inside,” Merry breathed, “I think if you hadn't, Sam, then it would have been Frodo that would have been found dead this morning. Dead and...” He stopped himself, not able to think past that.  
  
“Then that thing... what ever it is, is still out there!” Sam cried, “we have to go find Mr. Frodo! That thing don't need darkness to attack!”  
  
“As your father reminded me, if we go out now, we'll only lead that mob to Frodo,” Merry sighed.  
  
“But,” Sam gasped painfully.  
  
“So what ought we to do, sir?” Hamfast asked. They all turned to him. Merry had to blink away tears.  
  
“I don't know,” he admitted quietly.  
  
“Those hobbits made a mess of Mr. Frodo's door,” Daisy said gently, “if you and Mr. Fatty are to stay up here tonight we'll need to get that hole boarded up.”  
  
“Maybe you should stay with us at Number Three?” Sam asked. Merry blinked.  
  
“I couldn't put you out,” he began.  
  
“I don't figure it'd be a good thing to leave Bag End unguarded,” Daisy said, “not if those lads are set on searching the place and doing heavens knows what pilfering.”  
  
“Alright, the pair of you,” Hamfast growled at his children, “stop trying to boss Mr. Merry.”  
  
“No, please, I need ideas,” Merry laughed lightly, “the door is a good priority. And I think we should stay up here. Frodo mentioned once that he didn't want Bag End left unguarded while all this trouble was going on.”  
  
“Alright then,” Sam nodded. They unbolted the door and walked back up to the kitchen. Hamfast went out and down the hall to talk to Hamson and some of the others about gathering supplies to patch the door. Merry lingered in the kitchen with Daisy and Sam, watching as she examined her brother's injuries. Sam stood still, the impatience in his expression almost hidden but not quite, as he silently bore her prodding.  
  
“Sam you come home tonight,” Daisy said, “Mr. Frodo ain't up here no more. And I need to watch you.”  
  
“Oh, what for?” Sam frowned. Daisy gave him a stern look.  
  
“Don't pretend to be dafter than you are,” she said, “you was knocked cold and for a few minutes. That's not good for a hobbit and there can be trouble from it later.”  
  
“Nay, if I can't see Mr. Frodo safe, then I'll guard Bag End,” Sam grumbled, “I've a job to do either way. And I'm fine.” Daisy snorted at him, and Merry thought she would have said more but for his presence.  
  
“If Sam wants to stay at Bag End, then I'll check on him tonight,” Merry offered, “every two hours was it?” Daisy's attention shifted to him and she gave him an appraising look.  
  
“Are you sure, Mr. Merry?” she asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Alright,” she said slowly and in a hard voice, “every two hours. First make sure he's a breathing. Then wake him. Then ask him a question and see if he can talk sense.” She turned to Sam. “Not that Sammy don't talk a bit of nonsense even if he's perfectly well,” she teased lightly. Sam turned and smacked her shoulder playfully and Daisy in turn tugged at his curls. She turned back to Merry, “I'm a trusting you with my baby brother, sir.”  
  
“Yes m'm,” Merry said, “I promise to do as you say.” She gave Sam one more pat, then went out of the kitchen to join the rest of her family on the stoop. Merry sank into a seat at the table, trying to gather himself. If he was called to go back out there, he'd need to be strong.  
  
“Sir, I'm fine, honest,” Sam said, “you don't have to bother yourself looking after me.” Merry glanced at him.  
  
“Sam Gamgee,” Merry scolded, “you're asking me to break my word.”  
  
“Just to our Daisy,” Sam said, but his voice was sheepish.  
  
“Nonsense. I've promised to look after you,” Merry said gruffly. “If I don't, the fact that I'm a gentlehobbit won't keep your Daisy from knocking me down, I'm thinking. And besides, Frodo would never forgive me if he found out.” Sam went pink and dropped his gaze.  
  
“Well alright, sir,” he said, “but honest, I'm alright. T'was just a little knock.” Merry glanced at him.  
  
“Really Sam, why would you run up here and try to fight that crowd yourself?” he asked. Sam sent him an indignant look.  
  
“They took a ax to Mr. Frodo’s door!” Sam said through gritted teeth. Merry watched Sam radiate outrage and his distinct protective fury.  
  
“Doors can be replaced,” Merry said quietly, “gardeners can’t.” Sam sent him a look. Merry added, “at least, this gardener can’t be replaced.” Sam glanced away. Merry paused. “But then you didn’t know that we’d secreted Frodo away.”  
  
“I couldn’t just let... I’ll never let them touch him,” he said hotly.  
  
“I know,” Merry breathed.  
  
“T'was foolish in more than one way though,” Sam sighed, “if I hadn’t run up here then you’d a been able to get that sack of food to Mr. Frodo and Mr. Pippin and maybe we all could have gotten away together. I am very sorry we didn’t and I feel awful.”  
  
“We don’t know what would have happened,” Merry said gently, “please don’t blame yourself. You weren’t to know. And besides, perhaps if I had gone on or if Fatty had brought you to the stone bridge then maybe we’d have been spotted and we’d be in a very bad way now.” They were silent a moment.  
  
“I ought to go help with the door,” Sam said.  
  
“No, you need to stay out of sight,” Merry said and went on quickly, seeing Sam frown, “the Shirriffs were talking of arresting you."   
  
“For what?” Sam said a little hotly.  
  
“For attacking a Shirriff,” Merry said, exasperated. Sam sucked his teeth and glanced away. “Oh Sam. What will we do with you?”  
  
“I give him a black eye,” Sam said with some satisfied venom, “and I'd do it again. Any Shirriff wants to mess about with Mr. Frodo's door is going to get a black eye from me and maybe more. Don't care what they say.”  
  
“Let's try and avoid having to make that case before the moot,” Merry said. Sam gave him a faint smile.  
  
They made a pot of tea and Sam put together some sandwiches for the Row hobbits keeping watch and patching the door. Merry was called out to tell off a Shirriff and he did so, but it was Fatty who sent the hobbit packing. Fatty knew his Shire Law much better than Merry and he'd gone out with one of Frodo's Code books and began quoting law to the fellow. Finally the Shirriff left, but promised to return in the morning with a judge. There hadn't been a mention of Sam, and Merry was grateful for that. They retreated back up the steps to Bag End and Merry stared out across the Hill and the lands below. The afternoon light was fading, but he could still see bands of hobbits darting in and out of the trees, searching for Frodo. He blinked and stiffened.  
  
“That bag I left!” he hissed to Fatty. Fatty turned and chuckled.  
  
“We took care of it,” he said. Merry felt the tension drain, “you did?”  
  
“Well. Marigold did,” he said. “It's in the parlor, stuffed in that old trunk by the bookshelf.”  
  
“Thank you,” Merry sighed.  
  
“This has taken it's toll on you, hasn't it?” Fatty asked quietly. Merry nodded. “Go inside and sit down for a bit.”  
  
“I meant to help with the door.”  
  
“I've enough help. Go inside,” he said and dropped his voice, “besides, I’d feel better if you kept an eye on Sam.”  
  
“What?” Merry blinked, “that's just tonight. To make sure he doesn't have brain commotion.”  
  
“No,” Fatty said quietly, “you need to watch him to make sure he doesn't try to go find Frodo.”  
  
“He's not going to-” Merry broke off and winced. “Oh bother it. He knows he'd be leading Lotho's spies to him!”  
  
“Sam may decide it's worth the risk. Or he may think he can slip off unseen. Or that he just doesn't care and he'll fight anyone who tries to get between him and Frodo. We already know he's willing to do that.”  
  
“Well,” Merry grumbled, “I still think he wouldn't risk it.” Fatty gave him a look. “Alright! Sam watch it is.”  
  
As dusk set in, the Row hobbits retreated to their homes at Merry's request. He and Fatty thanked them and sent them off. The angry band that was searching the woods had dispersed an hour before. They retreated back along the road, heading to town, no doubt to regroup at the Bush or the Dragon. Merry bitterly hoped they all got terrible hangovers.  
  
The door was bolted together with planks of sturdy pine nailed in slats on the outside and inside of the door. It was difficult to open and close now, being off balance, but the patch work had done its job- the smial could be closed up again. Merry watched the Row families leaved and turned back to stare down the long hallway, feeling a crushing sadness. The hallway was cold and dark and quiet now. It felt like they were under siege and there was no cheer or easy companionship to be found inside.  
  
Sam stuck his head out from the kitchen.  
  
“How about some dinner, sir?” he asked, “you must be hungry.”  
  
“Actually I'm not hungry at all,” Merry said quietly. Sam's mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “But even if I'm not hungry, I suppose I should eat.”  
  
“I'll cook you something, sir. How about trout? Isn't that your favorite?” Sam asked gently. “If I remember Mr. Fatty is partial to a bit of river trout too.” Merry nodded.  
  
“You'll eat with me and Fatty?” he asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“If you like.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Merry wandered down to the parlor and went to sit in the darkness. He made an attempt to build a fire but it was a sad little thing that burned it's kindling up before the larger logs ever ignited, so that the brightness faded quickly, then guttered and died, smothered in ash. Merry stared at the little column of smoke. Sam could build wonderful roaring fires that never faltered, but Merry didn't want to bother him. Instead he gathered more kindling and made a second attempt.  
  
As he worked, his thoughts drifted back to the night of Frodo's coming of age party. It had been a cool September night, much warmer than the night they were having now. But despite the warmth, he'd had his first taste of deep cold fear that night. The same fear that threatened to overwhelm him now.  
  
He'd been sitting with his family at the Brandybuck camp. It had been very late, but still there were hobbits up and about, thought most of the dancing was done. He'd gone to the fires, looking for a place to sit, when he'd heard his father and grandfather talking to one another in low voices. He'd settled nearby and listened, because they were talking about Bilbo. Merry had a fleeting hope that they were in on the joke and would revel what they knew.  
  
“Mark me son, Bilbo has gone and done something very silly.”  
  
“Made an ass of himself you mean.”  
  
“True but there’s more to this than cheap party tricks, I’ll wager.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Saradoc asked.  
  
“I’ll bet he really has gone off.”  
  
“At his age?”  
  
“Bilbo isn’t sensible. He's never been sensible. Not since he went off to foreign parts and came back with all those queer ideas, anyway.”  
  
“Well then I suppose we’ll see him in a year and he can spend the next fifty years boring us to tears with tales of his new adventure,” Saradoc laughed. “At least I will be able to go a year without hearing about barrel jumping.”  
  
“Barrel riding,” Rorimac said scornfully under his breath and shook his head. “No. Something makes me think old Bilbo meant those things he said. He won’t be back.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Saradoc snorted, “He'd not leave Frodo behind.”  
  
“The boy is of age,” Rory said, “and anyway. Where is Frodo? Haven't seen him in a while.”  
  
“Hush dad. No more of that talk.”  
  
Merry froze. He got up and walked out from the circle of light and into the dark woods. He kept his pace languid until he was out of sight of his father and the others then he broke into a run and he didn’t stop running until he was up on the Hill standing in front of Bag End, knocking on the door.  
  
After a long agonizing minute the door opened and Frodo peered out at him.  
  
“Merry! What are you doing up here?” he asked. Relief flooded through Merry's body, making him feel lightheaded.  
  
“Where is Uncle Bilbo?” he asked. Frodo’s expression froze, then he dropped his gaze.  
  
“Come in Merry,” he said quietly. Merry stepped inside.  
  
“Has he gone?” He asked in a hushed voice. Frodo glanced up.  
  
“He’s gone,” he murmured. Merry felt a sliver of loss open up inside him.  
  
“And not coming back?” Merry asked. Frodo’s expression tensed as he tried to deliver a response, but he wasn’t able to speak. There was a slight tremble around his mouth. “Oh Frodo,” Merry breathed and went to him, throwing his arms around his cousin. Frodo latched onto him and held him tight.  
  
“He meant everything he said, I’m afraid,” Frodo said, his voice breaking.  
  
“I’ll stay with you, for as long as you need,” Merry vowed. Frodo laughed quietly.  
  
“That’s kind but there’s no call for that,” he said. Merry glanced around them at the piles of mathoms laid out with dangling labels.  
  
“You're going to have a lot to deal with in the coming days. Wouldn’t you like some help?”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo sighed, drawing back, “Yes. You’re right.” He laughed, his eyes falling on the piles of gifts as well. “Bilbo thought it was very funny to give out antagonistic gifts to people he doesn’t like. But now he’s gone and left me to do his dirty work. The ass.”  
  
“We’ll get through it,” Merry said. Frodo met his eyes and nodded. Merry paused a moment and added, “I love you.” Frodo smiled, looking touched and drew Merry back into a hug.  
  
“I love you too. Thank you so much for being here.”  
  
The fire guttered out for the second time and Merry stood, giving up his attempts. He didn't want to sit in this cold dark room by himself anymore. He set off for the kitchen, where Sam was cooking.  
  
Merry entered the room quietly and went to sit at the table across from Sam. He was leaned forward, turning the skewers of fish over the kitchen fire and pausing to brush oil over their crisping skins. Sam glanced at him but kept silent. They were both locked into painful worries.  
  
The kitchen was dark, save for the light from the small cook fire and the barest slip of moonlight, painting the garden pale outside the windows. Merry stared out the window, watching the trees and bushes sway as the wind picked up and rocked their branches back and forth. It was cold out there. Frodo and Pippin hadn't been dressed for the cold.  
  
Merry almost jumped when he felt a warm hand set over his own. He blinked and turned to see that Sam was watching him, deep concern in his brown eyes. Merry stared at him. He took a shaky breath and put his other hand over Sam's. They remained silent.  
  
_I think I can see a little of why Frodo loves him so,_ Merry thought, watching Sam. Sam blinked, his expression easing a little. After another moment, Sam drew his hand away and returned to cooking the trout. Merry leaned back and kept his attention on the warm fire and the reassuring smell of cooking fish. He tried not to look out the window again.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Frodo and Pippin waited under the stone bridge for almost an hour. It was a beautiful old bridge, made from blocks of granite and sandstone, built long before Bungo's father's time. Local hobbits liked to say it was built by dwarves, but that wasn't true- it was built by hobbits in the days when more of them knew stone craft. Even so, hobbits regarded the ornate bridge with suspicion and had long ago abandoned the upkeep of the old road between Overhill and the Bywater-Needlehole Road.  
  
Frodo admired it, even as he was shivering. After a time he turned his attention out into the woods, very aware that the shadows were lengthening, his eyes and ears strained for even the slightest sound. Pippin had said very little once they reached the bridge and had said nothing when they got past the first half hour.  
  
The fact that Merry and the rest hadn’t shown began to worry him badly. Pippin gave a little sniff beside him. Frodo glanced at him,  
  
“It’s alright. Merry is very good at getting out of trouble. He’s fine. And so is Fatty. And Sam. We’re in worse trouble I’d wager. I’m such a fool. I shouldn’t have stood here for so long getting colder and colder. We aren’t wearing enough clothes for that. We need to go on.”  
  
“But they won’t find us then,” Pippin frowned, “no one but you knows where this old hole is.”  
  
“We’ll leave a note,” Frodo said simply. “Very few hobbits around here can read so I don’t think we have to worry about it being intercepted. It will be alright.” That said, leaving a note proved to be a problem. Frodo chanced to have paper on him, something that came of being of the scholarly persuasion, but he hadn’t anything to write with.  
  
Frodo spotted a clump of berry bushes on the bank of the creek and used the berry juice and a twig to write a short and messy note. It said simply,  
  
“Due N to N Farthing bounds, then NE for 1 mile. Look for stand of oak and ridge. -F and P”  
  
With the note firmly attached to one of the lower support beams under the bridge, they set off into the woods once more.  
  
It took them another hour to hike up to Bindbole wood. Frodo knew the land well and had no problem steering them to the hole he'd found years ago. The abandoned hole was much the way Frodo remembered it; a one room smial dug out of a ridge with trees growing all around. The door looked sturdy enough, though weathered, and all things considered the rest of the hole looked to be in fairly good shape. Frodo went to the door and tugged it open a few feet, peering inside.  
  
“Damn. I wish we had a bit of light,” Frodo muttered and shivered at the dark recessed before him. Pippin jumped at his side and rummaged in his pockets.  
  
“The tender box you gave me last year,” he murmured and pulled the little box out of his pocket triumphantly. Frodo gave him a warm smile.  
  
“Good lad,” he said taking the box. There was a flint and a small stub of candle in the box and Frodo soon had it alight.  
  
“Though I wonder if it's safe to build a fire,” Pippin murmured, “think they're looking for us?” Frodo didn’t answer immediately; he was busily looking around the small hole. Leaves covered the floor and there were cobwebs and a musty smell, but the hole looked dry and protected from the elements. He supposed the chimney must certainly be blocked, but checked anyway, sticking his head in the small stone fireplace. The back wall was cracked but looking up Frodo couldn’t see much.  
  
“I don’t see leaves,” Pippin said.  
  
“It must have a cap,” Frodo said. He had decided he would build a fire if possible. Pippin was chilled and both their feet were wet from the walking through the soggy earth near the Water.  
  
“If anyone sees the smoke they won’t know it’s us,” Frodo said with more confidence than he felt. He went back outside and found the chimney cap at the top of the ridge. Leaves and earth had covered it but Frodo dug it out quickly and was satisfied that the chimney would do. On his way back in Frodo gathered sticks and moss and pushed them through the door. By the time he had gathered enough and come back inside, Pippin had started a fire in the hearth and was sitting back with a flicker of the old smugness in his face. Frodo settled on the wooden floor beside him and stared into the fire.  
  
“You really think Merry and Fatty and Sam are alright?” Pippin asked. Frodo wrapped an arm around Pippin’s shoulders and sighed.  
  
“Yes. That mob wasn’t after them. They may have had some trouble, but I’m sure they're all fine.”  
  
“Right,” Pippin murmured. He wrinkled his nose, “I'm starving.” He glanced at Frodo, “Sorry. I don't mean to complain. I can go one night without supper.”  
  
“No call for that,” Frodo laughed, “There is a wonderful grove of mushrooms, just over this ridge.” Pippin's eyes widened and he shot to his feet.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo laughed and got to his feet as well, “why do you think I was out here exploring this wood to begin with?”  
  
“Stop wasting time,” Pippin said and vaulted out there door, “it's getting dark soon. Come on!” Frodo laughed and followed him out.  
  
It only took them twenty minutes to gather a bounty of mushrooms. It was the perfect season to harvest and both had a bundle, held in their shirt tails when they returned. Between them they had wood mushrooms, field mushrooms, wood urchin and even a few wood blewits, one of Frodo's favorites. They fashioned skewers from sharpened sticks and began popping mushrooms on the ends for roasting.  
  
The entire time Pippin had chattered about the mushrooms and how they might cook them and how nice it would be if they had a pan, and butter, and herbs, and beer, and maybe a bit of lamb shank or sausage to go with them. Frodo laughed and agreed that all of that would indeed be very nice. He'd been a little surprised at Pippin's sudden cheeriness, though mushroom groves did tend to have that effect on hobbits, but then realized the reason behind Pippin's chatter. _He's trying to distract me from worrying about Merry and Fatty and Sam,_ Frodo thought.  
  
“It is a shame the others aren't here to share our mushroom feast,” Frodo said lightly. Pippin glanced at him, then shrugged.  
  
“They'll no doubt be a bit jealous. Maybe we should keep this secret,” he said.  
  
“Maybe. Though, even if the mushroom feast makes them jealous, sleeping out here with no blanket won't,” Frodo grumbled. Pippin hummed and glanced back at the door. He got up and bolted it, then swung the draw bar down. He bent and peered around the edges of the door.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Looking for drafty bits. But it's very snug. This place was well built,” Pippin said.  
  
“I thought so too,” Frodo said. Pippin came back to the fire and sat down. He paused, then said,  
  
“Lotho should be the one out here in the cold with no blanket, being chased by a mob.” Frodo laughed feeling his heart lighten at Pippin’s tone. Pippin always could make him laugh, even when they both felt more like crying than laughing. It was one of the qualities about Pippin that Frodo loved most.  
  
“He should, shouldn't he?” Frodo asked, drawing one of the skewers off to test the roasted shroom. It was nicely hot, so he bent and took a bite, holding the steaming flesh between his teeth, blowing around it to cool it. Pippin took a skewer for himself and took a small bite, watching Frodo try not to burn himself. _These really would be heavenly with a little butter, maybe some salt and pepper. And garlic. And thyme. If I had cream I could make soup..._  
They finished their humble meal and sat before the fire, talking in low voices.  
  
“I suppose we should keep watch,” Pippin said. Frodo nodded.  
  
“I'll take first watch,” he said.  
  
“Don't know how I'll get any sleep with it so cold,” Pippin complained, “can I put my head in your lap?”  
  
“Yes. And get close to the hearth. You should be warm enough,” Frodo said, turning so that his back was to the fire. Pippin lay down and Frodo’s arm went round his shoulders. A few minutes passed in silence and Frodo thought Pippin might be on the way to sleep when he shifted slightly and sighed.  
  
“Frodo?” he murmured.  
  
“What is it?” Frodo asked quietly. Pippin's eyes were closed but Frodo could see the frown and wrinkled brow.  
  
“I hate this. Those Hornblowers have talked up some very dark things I think. They must have for them to rally a crowd to march on Bag End.”  
  
“Lotho and his Shirriff friends led them. I don't think anyone would have done it without them.”  
  
“But,” Pippin murmured, “it means that there are hobbits who believe the worst about you,” he paused, “they think you killed Turnplow. And they think you killed that little girl.” Frodo rubbed Pippin's shoulder. “And the things Jolly told Merry- about them thinking that you aren't a real hobbit. It scared me, to think what they might do if they really believe that.”  
  
“It’s okay Pip,” he murmured.  
  
“I don’t think it is,” he said and his voice caught, making Pippin pause for a moment. “We knew there were rumors, everyone knows the one about the Took that had a fairy wife, but this is different. This was like them making it okay to hurt you.”  
  
“Ah no,” Frodo soothed, though he felt a chill at Pippin’s words, a chill he tried with all his might to hide, “No it isn’t like that. Those hobbits don’t like me, and they think they can run me off, make me move to Buckland. That’s all.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Pippin asked his voice wobbly, “in the stories, this is when they kill the witch.”  
  
“Those are men's tales,” Frodo told him gently, “not hobbit tales.”  
  
“Even so, I don't want you to get hurt Frodo,” Pippin murmured.  
  
“No one is going to hurt me. You'll see. We'll laugh about this someday.”  
  
“I hope so,” Pippin said, sounding a little soothed.  
  
Pippin soon drifted off to sleep. Frodo sat, lulled a bit by Pippin’s breathing and the crackling of the fire, but his mind refused to settle from all the worry piled up inside him.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

“Sam,” came Merry's voice from the kitchen. Sam looked up, pausing in his work. He'd been reorganizing Frodo's pantry for lack of anything else to do.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Come out here, please,” the gentlehobbit said. Sam rose from his stool and walked out into the candlelit kitchen. Merry was standing by the table, peering out the window. Sam blinked and followed his gaze.  
  
The garden was filled with fog, glowing in the moonlight and studded with faint darting glowing lights. Like fireflies.  
  
Sam began to shake.  
  
“We're alright,” Merry said slowly. Sam couldn't help the small sound of distress in his throat. Merry turned to him and beckoned him close. “This is good,” he said, as Sam drew near.  
  
“Good?” Sam gasped.  
  
“It's here, and not wherever Frodo and Pippin are.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam murmured. Fatty entered the kitchen and Sam turned to see the gentlehobbit glance out the window.  
  
“It's all around,” Fatty said. Merry nodded.  
  
“I'm glad we got the door bolted up,” he said. Fatty nodded, coming to stand beside them.  
  
“Surround this Hill all you like creature,” Merry snarled, “you'll not find him.”  
  
“Merry don't provoke it,” Fatty hissed, “we don't know what it's capable of.” Merry snorted, watching the garden with narrowed eyes.  
  
“All I know is that Frodo is safe tonight. And I am glad of that.”  
  
“We need to keep ourselves safe,” Fatty said, “whatever creature this fog hides has shown that it can get at hobbits from a distance. If it decides to come for us, I wonder if it could make us walk out there.”  
  
“Then we barricade the entrances,” Merry said, “and keep watch.”  
  
“We can do shifts, the three of us,” Sam suggested.  
  
“I don't know, Sam, you're injured,” Fatty said, “perhaps you need rest more than we do.”  
  
“I'm fine, sir. Honest,” Sam said.  
  
“Don't fight him on it Fatty. I've learned to pick my battles with Sam,” Merry said. Sam turned, startled at this, until he saw Merry's expression and realized he was being teased. “Besides, we've had a full night's rest last night. Or, nearly, anyway. You haven't. We'll take the first half together and then you can relieve Sam.”  
  
“Alright,” Fatty agreed.  
  
Merry and Sam sat by the fire, feeding it wood every so often and talked. They talked about the weather, and Bilbo, and Brandy Hall, and gardening, for hours. He couldn’t really believe he had found so much to talk about with Merry, especially since neither seemed eager to talk over the events of the night, the creatures, the Conspiracy, or any of the affairs involving Lotho. Merry laughed suddenly, his voice quiet in the dim room.   
  
“Sir?” Sam asked turning. Merry shook his head. He had gone drowsy and relaxed as their talk spun on.  
  
“I thought when I set out from Buckland that the worst I'd have to face would be the hard mornings after drinking. Or helping Frodo set up for his party.”  
  
“This was supposed to be a break for you,” Sam nodded, “I'm sorry it hasn't been.”  
  
“No. I'm glad to be here. Glad to be of help to him,” Merry said quietly, “Frodo is such a good friend and such a good hobbit. He's brave, and strong, and thoughtful. And he's always been there for me when I needed him,” Merry said quietly. Sam smiled at Merry's words.  
  
“Ah,” Sam murmured, “he’s like that.”  
  
“Yes,” Merry agreed and let the conversation sink into silence. Sam paused as well. Merry's words warmed him.  
  
“It's the same for me. I want to do what I can to see him safe,” he said quietly. Merry turned and considered him. Sam met his eyes, “Even if it means tangling with things I’ve no business tangling with. Even if it means being at his side when I’ve no business being there.”  
  
“No business being at his side?”  
  
“There’s a few in town, and even some of my family who say such. They tell me, _keep to the garden_. Even my dad isn’t easy with all this. He don’t want harm coming to Mr. Frodo, and he’s willing to do as Mr. Gandalf asked, but he’s always told me my business is cabbages and potatoes and not meddling in affairs too big for a Gamgee,” he sighed, “But it don’t none of it make a difference to me- not what the town hobbits or my family or even what Mr. Gandalf might say- I’ll stick with him. That’s what this whole conspiracy matter is to me.”  
  
“I think it’s wonderful,” Merry said softly, “It makes me happy to know that you love him so.”  
  
“Of course I do,” Sam said very quietly. He blinked and gazed up. “Oh! That’s what the conspiracy is to you too,” he said and Merry laughed. “I beg your pardon sir,” Sam added quickly.  
  
“Did you think we were just being insufferable nosy little asses?”  
  
“No sir!” Sam protested but Merry was still laughing. Sam looked a little sheepish. “Well,” he admitted, “I know you lot can’t abide a mystery.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Merry smiled. A moment passed and Sam fed a log onto the fire. “Sam?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Merry?”  
  
“You said some tell you to keep to the garden; you know me and Pippin and Fatty don’t think that way,” Merry said, his voice dropping into a low steady tone. “We want you with Frodo.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“And not just to keep an eye on him, you understand,” Merry paused for a long moment, before adding, “If the love you have for him brings you close to Frodo, then please know that you’ll not get any scorn from us over it.”  
  
“...Yes sir,” Sam murmured, blinking and feeling touched, but bewildered by Merry's words. He cocked his head, “Thank you, Mr. Merry.” Merry nodded. They sat up until late in the night, keeping one another awake and listening out. But nothing tried to get into the smial. Fatty came at last to relieve him and Sam went to bed, taking one of the guest rooms. True to his word, Merry woke him every two hours and made him answer questions. As much as Sam felt touched by the care, he couldn't help but worry that he'd not get any more sleep after Merry woke him the first time. But that proved not to be the case. He was exhausted and sleep came easy.

The next morning, Sam was in the kitchen, making breakfast for the household, when he spotted his brother outside the window, making his way through the garden. He put down the knife he'd been using to dice tomatoes and wiped his hands, going to the door to let Hamson in.  
  
“Good morning,” he said. Hamson nodded. “You off, back to Tighfield?”  
  
“Course not,” Hamson scowled at him.  
  
“Go on home Hamson,” Sam said, “we’re fine.  
  
“You ain’t fine!” his brother said with a little temper in his voice. Sam clicked his tongue and glanced back into the smial. Merry and Fatty were up, having their tea and Sam was afraid he was about to get into a fight with his brother and he didn't want to disturb them or get them involved in it.  
  
“Let's step into the garden,” Sam said tersely as he turned the burners off. Hamson nodded and followed him out.  
  
“I'll not have you take any part in the strangeness,” Sam said once they were outside and the door firmly closed.  
  
“Oh and you can handle that?”  
  
“No but,” Sam huffed, “you've a wife and babes to think on.”  
  
“And a dad and sisters and a little brother,” Hamson countered, “after yesterday-”  
  
“I'm fine,” Sam said.  
  
“You had no business getting into such a fight. Nor getting deeper into this mess,” Hamson's expression hardened.  
  
“I have so.”  
  
“Cause it’s for your lad on the Hill,” Hamson said coolly. Sam blinked and kept quiet. “Just what is it that makes you feel to need to-?” Hamson asked quietly, a note of anger in his voice.  
  
“Duty,” Sam said, and tried not to shake.  
  
“Your duty is to the runner beans. Not to keeping that Baggins from getting hisself killed.”  
  
“Tis,” Sam said stubbornly, “Dad promised Mr. Gandalf.”  
  
“He’s a cracked old man. You don’t need to risk your life over some trickster's nonsense.”  
  
“Hamson Gamgee,” Sam hissed.  
  
“And no Baggins ever done anything worth you risking your life over them. So I’ll ask you again, what makes you act like this?”  
  
“He’s in trouble and I can’t bear not helping him,” Sam said very quietly. “It’s the decent thing.”  
  
“He’s not your friend Sam.”  
  
“I've told you,” Sam murmured, “I’ve a duty to him. And a job to do.”  
  
“It’s that simple?” Hamson asked. Sam considered this. There was love in it too, but he didn’t feel he owed Hamson any of that.  
  
“Stay if you want,” Sam said, “but don’t go near the Hill.” He turned and began to walk away.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“Write a letter for me? To Prim? So she knows why I haven’t come back to her.” Sam paused.  
  
“Alright,” he said and was about to turn and go back inside when he spotted figures on the lane up to the hill. It was Lotho, two of his Shirriff friends and an old fat hobbit, puffing along after them, who Sam didn’t know. Hamson turned and sent him a look. Sam went quickly inside, rushing into the hallway calling out,  
  
“Mr. Lotho is coming up the Hill!”  
  
“What?” Merry turned to stare at him from over the back of the sofa.  
  
“Wonder what he wants,” Fatty said mildly.  
  
“He’s got Shirriffs with him and some older fellow.”  
  
“Judge Greyfoot what do you want to bet,” Merry said, springing up, “come on, we’ll meet them at the gate.”

Together, they went out and the three of them stood at the gate, presenting a united front. Lotho and the Shirriffs arrived first and stood waiting for the old judge as he climbed the Hill. No one offered a good morning.  
  
Sam made a growl of displeasure at seeing Lotho trying to shift the pieces of the green door that lay in front of the gate where they'd been moved out of the way.  
  
“Sam…” Merry said in a low warning voice. Sam shot him an indignant look.  
  
“He’s touching Mr. Frodo’s door!” he whispered hotly.  
  
“I need you Sam. Do not fight him because he touched some scraps of wood,” Merry said sternly. Sam snorted and was going to settle in for a glower, when he caught Merry's gaze on the wood scraps. Sam turned and peered closer. His eye was caught by a faint reflection, tucked beneath the door fragments. He stilled and stared a moment before moving his gaze away. He and Merry exchanged a look and then turned back to watching the judge approach.   
  
“Good morning!” Judge Greyfoot said, puffing as he arrived. Merry and Fatty offered a cool good morning and Sam kept quiet. “These fellows,” and the judge gestured to the Shirriffs, “are here to deliver a writ. Go on lads.” The Shirriffs opened a piece of paper and read out,  
  
“All hobbits presently staying at Bag End Top of the Hill are to leave this smial effective immediately,” the Shirriff said, “You’ve been declared squatters by writ of the West Farthing Shirriff's office.”  
  
“Squatters?” Fatty cried.  
  
“We are here at the invitation of Frodo Baggins,” Merry said in a low dangerous voice.  
  
“Who isn’t here. And this property is to be held in trust until his return by his closest relative, Mr. Lotho Sackville-Baggins," the judge said. Merry turned on Lotho.  
  
“You know Frodo hasn't abandoned Bag End,” Merry said hotly, “and I intend to stay here and keep an eye on the place.”  
  
“You haven’t any claim to this land,” Lotho said pointing angrily at Merry, “Frodo might be your cousin, but you’re a Brandybuck. Practically a foreigner.”  
  
“Begging your pardon,” Sam began, his voice quiet but hot. Lotho glared at him.  
  
“No one asked you to speak, lad. Kindly keep your nose out of matters you don’t understand. What is he doing here anyway?”  
  
“Sam is caretaker and manages the property when Frodo isn’t home,” Merry said.  
  
“So there is no need for a trust,” Fatty added.  
  
“Do you have documentation of that arrangement?” the judge asked.  
  
“We don’t need it. Everyone around here knows that.”  
  
“I can’t just go off your claims,” the judge said, “If some miscreant flees questioning then his lands must be looked after. That's the Rules.” Sam scowled at the word ‘miscreant’ and folded his arms, giving the judge a threatening look and ignored the gentle kick that Fatty gave him.  
  
“And what exactly has my cousin been charged with?” Merry asked coolly. The judge frowned.  
  
“I don’t know that Mr. Baggins has been charged with anything sir, but the Shirriffs did want to question him about the disappearance of little Dandy Browntree. It is a fact that he has fled from this questioning- that has prompted this legal action of passing his property rights to the next of kin to hold in trust while this matter is resolved.” The judge looked as if he thought this all very reasonable.  
  
“So, your granting trusteeship to Lotho because he’s Frodo's closest relative?” Merry asked slowly.  
  
“Yes. And presumed heir.”  
  
“But he’s not Frodo’s heir.”  
  
“Mr. Baggins' will is sealed, so I have no way to verify that,” the judge said. Merry paused.  
  
“There is a copy of Frodo’s will that I can produce. A copy he had made for occasions like this.”  
  
“It’s still sealed!” Lotho barked, “it can’t be considered!” The judge frowned.  
  
“This copy was ordered by Frodo Baggins and held in private hands?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And you can produce it?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then it’s not under seal,” the judge told Lotho.  
  
“But it’s not official,” Lotho seethed.  
  
“If it’s certified then it is. And it’s more than enough proof to show Mr. Baggins’ wishes when it comes to appointing a trustee for his property. Go fetch it,” the judge told Merry. Merry took Sam by the should.  
  
“Go to Number Three and get the sealed envelope Frodo asked your father to keep safe.”  
  
“I know the one,” Sam gasped. That was Frodo’s will? Sam moved down the lane and was on the Row before he knew it, darting into Number Three.  
  
A minute later he was back outside, his father following along behind him. Sam ran up the Hill and was surprised that his father was keeping up. Sam returned to the gate, holding the envelope while the Gaffer came along after him.  
  
“Now Mr. Merry, what is all this about if I might ask?” Hamfast Gamgee asked drawing close to the group.  
  
“I beg your pardon Master Gamgee,” Merry said and took the envelope from Sam, holding it out to the judge. Judge Greyfoot took it and broke the wax seal. Sam blinked as he watched the seal pop off the paper. He thought that letter would stay sealed for the rest of his life. The judge regarded the paper with scrutiny. Lotho sucked in his breath and stared daggers at Merry and Fatty. After a moment the judge gave an outraged shout and glared at the Gamgees over the piece of paper.  
  
“What’s this?” he roared.  
  
“What?” Hamfast asked, taken aback. “That's important papers, Mr. Frodo asked me to keep for him.” The judge didn't respond, only continued to sputter and began muttering to himself phrases like, “highly irregular” and casting suspicious looks at them. Sam gave Merry a bewildered look. Merry smile reassuringly, but there was tension in his face. Fatty looked very uncomfortable and wouldn't meet Sam's eyes.  
  
At last the judge thrust the paper back to Merry, refusing to hand it to Sam, who had his hand out for it. Merry passed it quickly to Sam while the judge regarded them all in sober silence for a moment.  
  
“My good gentlehobbits,” the judge said, and Sam had the distinct impression the judge did not include himself and his father in that address, “If this document is to be believed, and thus far it does look as if it is in order,” he admitted, “then trusteeship cannot be granted to Mr. Sackville-Baggins.”  
  
“Thank you, Judge. We'll take it from here,” Merry said quickly. Lotho blinked and stared at him.  
  
“Wait what is this?”  
  
“Good day,” Merry told them firmly.  
  
“No!” Lotho cried, “You're not going to just say I'm not trustee and that's it! Who is it? Who is Frodo's heir?” he demanded.  
  
“That's restricted information,” Merry said and glanced over, “close it up, Sam.” Sam slipped the paper back into the envelope and held it closed. Lotho turned to the judge.  
  
“I'll not stand for this! I demand to know who is being appointed trustee!”  
  
“Frodo wants that kept quiet until publication,” Merry said, “it's his will. He can do what he wants.” They both looked to the judge. The judge sighed.  
  
“Now Mr. Merry, you can’t have it both ways. Either that copy is sealed or it isn’t. And I’ve already ruled that it’s open,” he paused, “trusteeship is declared for one Mr. Samwise Gamgee, heir to the Hill.” It took a moment for that statement to sink in and precisely three seconds after the words were uttered there were shouts of disbelief from both sides.  
  
“Ridiculous!” Lotho shouted, “Even Frodo, even that populist swine of a Brandybuck wouldn’t stoop so low as to make an heir of his gardener!”  
  
“Now look here that can’t be!” Hamfast said, “I had Mr. Frodo hisself read that paper to me, and he never said nothing about Gamgees and Bag End!”  
  
Sam stood stock still, speechless and completely mortified to have all eyes on him. He could feel his cheeks burning, and his heart was hammering. What had Frodo done?  
  
“I am afraid,” the judge said coolly, “that Mr. Baggins has inherited his uncle’s unseemly sense of humor. Good day to you my good gentlehobbits.” And with that the judge put his hat back on and turned on his heel, and trudged back down the path to Hobbiton. Lotho stared after him blankly. Then, he turned to them, his face scrunched up and he gave them a hateful look.  
  
“Gamgee,” he hissed at Sam, “You had best enjoy that hole because Frodo won’t be coming back; I guarantee that.” And he stalked off swearing. Merry looked apologetically at Sam and his father. The Gaffer turned to Sam, his face also red.  
  
“Did you know about this?” he demanded. Sam stared at his father.  
  
“No sir,” he said tonelessly.  
  
“You sure Mr. Frodo never made no mention?”  
  
“He never told nothing of this to me,” Sam said.  
  
“It’s just a precaution. Temporary, you understand,” Merry said, trying to ease them.  
  
“It wasn't to be temporary when he wrote that!” the old gardener said, jabbing a finger at Merry. Merry flinched.  
  
“But why would he do such?” Sam asked, staring at Merry, “he couldn't have meant it!”  
  
“He surely wasn’t going to let the Sackville-Baggins’ get Bag End, was he? Bilbo would be displeased.”  
  
“Bag End, is not to be Sam's! It belongs to the Bagginses,” Hamfast said in an ominous tone. “I won’t have it.”  
  
“Frodo can’t hold the property rights for it now, so you see-” Merry tried to explain but the Gaffer interrupted him.  
  
“Confustigate and bebother that lad! He lied to me he did! I won’t have it. You must fix this, sir,” And he gave Merry a dangerous look. Merry's cheeks paled.  
  
“Now, Mr. Gamgee,” he said soothingly, “you must know only Frodo can-”  
  
“Confound all you Brandybucks!” the Gaffer shouted and stamped off in a fume. Sam and Merry watched him go in silence. Fatty coughed and slunk away without another word so that Sam and Merry were left standing by the gate. Sam turned to him after a moment.  
  
“You knew about this?” he asked.  
  
“Frodo told us, yes,” Merry admitted. Sam sent him a look that he knew was raw with hurt, “You know how Frodo is- he keeps things back if he thinks it will worry you.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said tightly, his hands balling into fists that he put into his pockets. Merry blinked.  
  
“Erm, are you angry?”  
  
“It’s not my place to be angry,” Sam said stiffly.  
  
“Oh. Well,” Merry said uncertainly, “I don’t see that there’s any reason for you to be angry...”  
  
“You wouldn’t, Mr. Merry,” Sam snapped, then dropped his voice, “beg your pardon but I need to go write a letter for my brother. I'll be at Number Three.”  
  
“Oh. Alright,” Merry said faintly, “see you later.” Sam turned away without any other word and went off.

Sam went toward the Row, stumbling and dizzy. He managed to steer himself out into the Party Field and sat among the high grasses. He was still clutching the envelope. There was such a churn inside him that he thought he might be sick. With shaking hands, he opened the envelope and read,

> I Frodo Baggins of said Farthing being of sound and disposing mind and memory do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking all others heretofore made by me.  
>  First, I direct that my debts including burial expenses, if applicable, be paid as soon after my death as practicable.  
>  Second, with the exception of gifts to my friends spelled out in the attachments, I bequeath to my dearest companion Samwise Gamgee, who's loving services have enriched my life immeasurably, the entirety of my personal, real, or mixed property. There can come to my mind while framing this sacred paper no sweeter thought than to hope that I may be able to remove him from the decree of toil and hardship after my death or disappearance and in some small degree add to his comfort and pleasure in his later years.  
>  Third, I hereby constitute and appoint Samwise Gamgee and my dear cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck as executors of my estate.
> 
> In witness whereof I have hereunto affixed my hand and seal on this the 5th day of December, Shire Reckoning 1413
> 
> Frodo Baggins      {FB}

Sam took a breath that came out as a choked sob. He put the paper away and curled in on himself, tucking his face into his arms.  
  
_He’s thrown me into a snake pit in more ways than one,_ Sam thought bitterly, _all but that he’s done it with sweet words and love in his heart._ He squeezed his eyes shut and let himself sit for a long while, trying to know what to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wills don't usually get so personal about feelings. Mostly it's limited to, my dear son, or whatever. But very occasionally they get a little more sentimental. Frodo went the sentimental route.


	14. Comfort and Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Tolkien. Now I can’t spell the word _sheriff _without thinking about it really hard.  
>  This chapter kept getting longer, so I split it into two chapters. Probably means you'll get the next chapter in a week or so.  
> Thanks for reading. <3__

“Damn,” Merry grumbled under his breath. That seemed to cover it as he stood at the top of the hill and watched Sam stumble out into the field behind Number Three. He closed his eyes, turning to kick a pile of leaves at the roadside. “I just failed Frodo spectacularly by letting his will become public. To no less than Lotho-Sackville Baggins. I narrowly escaped a beating from Gaffer Gamgee. And I hurt Sam, and then made him angry enough to give me hard words, and now I think he's down there crying.” He groaned and called, “Fatty!”   
  
“What?” came Fatty's voice from the top of the garden.  
  
“Come down here,” Merry pleaded.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“So you can kick me and send me rolling down the Hill.”  
  
“Stop being melodramatic, Merry. It isn't helping,” Fatty told him. Merry groaned again and sat down at the lane side. He heard the gate open and glanced over to see Fatty peering at him. “If you think you have it bad, think of what Frodo is going to have to face when he comes back here.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“We should have warned him it was a bad idea to keep this from the Gamgees,” Fatty murmured.  
  
“I'm ashamed to say I didn't even think about it,” Merry said, “how they might react.”  
  
“I'm afraid Frodo didn't think about it either,” Fatty snorted, “at least, he didn't think about it as much as he should have.”  
  
“He's so oblivious sometimes,” Merry sighed, “not that we're much better in this case.”  
  
“Well, it's our job to keep him from being so oblivious,” Fatty said sternly.  
  
“This is just a bit too much,” Merry groaned.  
  
“No it's not. Now get up,” Fatty told him. Merry ignored him and glanced at the pile of wood by the gate. He frowned and crawled over to it. “Merry.”  
  
“Hold a minute. Sam and I saw something odd in this wood pile when Lotho was shifting it around.”  
  
“Something odd?”  
  
“It was like a flash of light?”  
  
“That is odd,” Fatty said and bent down beside him.  
  
“I thought maybe there was a metal fitting that was reflecting or something but there's nothing like that.” Merry bent and shifted the largest piece of the green door and blinked in surprise as he turned it on it's side. There was a faint staining deep in the wood grain, and small particles that shone in the sunlight. Glowed even. It was like something had stained the door front and that stain had spread deep into the door.  
  
“What is that?”  
  
“Old paint?” Merry peered closer.  
  
“But it's inside the wood grain.”  
  
“Odd wood?”  
  
“I've never seen anything like it!”   
  
“It's just here. Not anywhere else in the wood.”  
  
“Yes. Like a scorch mark,” Fatty mused. It did look more like a scorch mark than a stain. “Lightening strike? Before it was a door?” Merry frowned, following the scorch mark up to the green surface, which was smooth and untroubled by the underlying scorch. He ran his finger along the surface and felt the small dip. It had been sanded.  
  
“It happened after it was a door. It's been sanded down. Repainted.”  
  
“Repainted many times probably,” Fatty said quietly. “Hm,” his attention shifted away and he rose. “I wonder what we should do? I was hoping for some plan to go get Frodo, but all my ideas involved Sam, and I think we need to let him cool off,” Fatty said. Merry was still tracing the uneven lines of the door, frowning. “Merry?”  
  
“Just a minute.”  
  
“We need to find out who is watching this place- I've no doubt Lotho has someone- and find a way around them.”  
  
“Hm,” Merry murmured.  
  
“Put that down,” Fatty scolded. Merry shook his head.  
  
“It's damage that bled down into the wood. And it's strange,” Merry said quietly.  
  
“So? It's more than a hundred years old! Of course it's been damaged and repaired. And who knows what kind of treatments old Bilbo might have used on the thing. He mixed those dwarves. Maybe it's some dwarf thing.” Merry was quiet for a long moment.  
  
“Not a dwarf thing,” he murmured.  
  
“Sorry?” Fatty asked turning back. Merry sat back, feeling a shiver. He looked up at Fatty.  
  
“ _And with the spike of his staff the wizard scratched a queer sign on the hobbit's beautiful green front door,_ ” Merry said. Fatty's eyes grew wide.  
  
“Gandalf's mark,” he said quietly.  
  
“Do you suppose that was the protection on Bag End that the Big Person spoke on?”  
  
“It's a better candidate that anything else we've found,” Fatty said slowly, “but wasn't it just a sign for the dwarves?”  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Merry said standing, “even if it wasn't some ward of protection, maybe the creatures are wary of any place marked by a wizard.”  
  
“Maybe when they're strong enough they wouldn't care about something like a mark.”  
  
“I think the best proof we have that this was the protection, is that it's been destroyed.”  
  
“I wonder if Lotho's lot were directed to chop the door. It's an odd thing to do.”  
  
“Yes,” Merry said slowly.  
  
“If that Big Person wanted to force Frodo's hand, then he'd destroy the protection. Leave him no choice. Make Frodo come to him. He probably wasn't happy that Frodo didn't go see him the other night.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Does this mean that Lotho's in league with the Big Person?”  
  
“Damn,” Merry cursed.  
  
“Well,” Fatty sighed glancing down at the wood, “I don't know much about magic marks, but the fact that it's been chopped up and broken... I suppose it's no longer an obstacle to any creature.”  
  
“I would guess not,” Merry said grimly, “Then, Bag End isn't safe for Frodo anymore. If it ever was.”  
  
“Where is then?” Fatty asked. Merry didn't answer.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Pippin and Frodo had mushrooms again for breakfast and Frodo really began to wish he had something else to pair them with. If Merry and the others didn't show in the next few hours he was going to go out foraging and see if he could do a little hunting. At one time he'd been good enough at stone throwing to take down a rabbit. And there was a creek not too far off, which they'd visited to take a drink from that morning. Maybe he could try a bit of improvised fishing. Still, they couldn't bide here much longer without more extensive supplies. Frodo sighed and tried not to worry.  
  
“You know,” Pippin said, finishing his mushrooms, “I really liked going to Michel Delving with you and Sam.” Frodo turned to him and smiled. Pippin added, “that was such a fun trip.”  
  
“Aside from your night attack,” Frodo murmured, amused.  
  
“Well. Yes,” Pippin agreed, “but otherwise. It would be nice to do something like that again. Didn't you enjoy it?”  
  
“Yes. I enjoyed it too. It was nice taking Sam to the museum. He'd never seen the dragon scale, you know. And then accomplishing what I set out to do at the Archive. And it was very a good inn. I liked having dinner with the both of you down in the common room. A very cozy place to have a meal and a drink or a smoke with some good friends.”  
  
“I thought so too,” Pippin nodded, “You know, I asked Sam if he would go drinking with me that afternoon, but he insisted on being with you at the library. I told him I do want to go drinking with him sometime,” Pippin said. Frodo laughed.  
  
“And what did Sam say to that?”  
  
“He asked if I really wanted to go around with a gardener. I told him yes! And that he's got good taste in beer, and a good voice for songs, and you know, he's just a nice hobbit.”  
  
“Yes, he knows his beer very well,” Frodo agreed smiling and added more quietly, “and he does have a nice voice. And he is such a good hobbit.”  
  
“You had a fine idea, taking Sam to the gardens,” Pippin went on, “I thought it was very romantic.” Frodo blinked.   
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Ah. Oh,” Pippin blinked and sat up, “I’m not supposed to know about that, am I?”  
  
“Know about...” Frodo stared at him, “Pippin! Has Merry been telling you-”  
  
“No! I have some powers of observation! I could tell you were sweet on Sam. I don’t need Merry to tell me everything!” Pippin paused and winced, adding “I mean, he did confirm it when I asked him.”  
  
“Oh! Very nice! You two gossiping about me!”  
  
“Frodo! It’s not like that! I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry,” Pippin pleaded.  
  
“Pippin,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“I know! I was suppose to wait and let you tell me in your own way. And I fouled it. I'm sorry.”  
  
“Well there's no point is there?” Frodo said quietly, “you all seem to know my business better than I do.”  
  
“We don't! Please Frodo,” the boy sounded so unhappy that Frodo had pity on him.  
  
“Alright. Don't be unhappy,” he said, “I'm lucky to have such good friends. Even if they do poke their noses into my business.”   
  
“I'm sorry,” Pippin murmured.   
  
“It's alright,” Frodo said. He paused a moment, watching the fire, and added with a sigh, “does it make you uncomfortable? Knowing that I like lads?” Pippin looked up at him.  
  
“No, Frodo,” he said quietly, “you're you. I love you.” Frodo felt the heat of tears prick sudden and unexpected. He caught his breath.  
  
“Oh Pip,” he said. Pippin's eyes widened and he put his arms around Frodo and tucked his head under his chin.  
  
“Dear old Frodo,” he murmured soothingly. Frodo held him tight and closed his eyes. “Can I be impertinent?” Pippin asked after a moment. Frodo laughed and Pippin drew back to flash him a grin.  
  
“You ask permission for that now do you?”   
  
“Well,” Pippin's smile faded a little, becoming rueful, “I will since it's something that's close to your heart. I don't want to hurt your feelings or push in.”  
  
“Alright. Be impertinent. If I don't want to answer I won't. You know me,” Frodo said. Pippin smiled again, and let his gaze return to their little cook fire.   
  
“Why didn't you ever tell us?” Pippin asked, “and keep in mind, if you say it was because you didn't think you could trust us to love you, you will break my heart.” Frodo paused.  
  
“It wasn't that, honest. I think it's mostly that I'm not in the habit of talking about it. I tell myself it isn't anyone's business.”  
  
“That's somewhat better than I expected,” Pippin sighed, “Just know that you don't have to hide that sort of thing from us,” Pippin said gently, “we're your friends.” Frodo nodded.  
  
“I see that.”  
  
“Is that also why you don't tell Sam?”  
  
“Yes. I may be close with Sam,” Frodo said slowly, “but that doesn’t mean it would be right to tell him things like that.”  
  
“He’s your friend too, isn’t he?”  
  
“I don’t know that we would call each other that...”  
  
“Oh come on Frodo!”  
  
“Even if we are friends, it wouldn't be the same as telling you and Merry.”  
  
“No. It wouldn't,” Pippin agreed, “what's between you...”  
  
“And not just for that. You've both seen more of the world and know all sorts. Hobbiton is very quiet. The people here don’t look kindly on peculiarity. Sam has grown up in that environment. It's all he knows.”   
  
“Oh,” Pippin frowned. “You think he’s listened to their meaness?”  
  
“I’m sure he’s heard it. And I’m also sure he’s never heard anything positive about one like me.”  
  
“But don’t you think he’d take your side over some Hobbiton gossips?”  
  
“He might. Just out of habit, or stubbornness, or loyalty. But it would be a disservice to make him take sides, don’t you see?”  
  
“No I don’t. Honestly, he’s already taken your side in all these troubles.”  
  
“Yes and paid the price for it,” Frodo said tightly, “he could have died the other night.” Pippin paused shaking his head.   
  
“He's not going to be in any more danger than he already is, just because he sticks by you for this too.”  
  
“You don't know that,” Frodo said quietly. Pippin paused again.  
  
“Frodo, he’s not going to hate you for it,” he said gently, “for any of it.”   
  
“Are you trying to push me into telling him?”  
  
“No. Sorry. I don’t mean to do that. We’re just talking about it,” Pippin demurred. Frodo studied him a moment.   
  
“Alright,” Frodo sighed and went on quietly, “It's one thing, him not hating me because of how I am, and another, him not hating me because I have feeling for him.” Frodo felt his heart kick. He'd said it out loud. He had feelings for Sam.  
  
“I don't see him being cruel to you, either way.”  
  
“No,” Frodo murmured, “there's no cruelty in him,” he paused. “But I don't think I could face telling him all of it at once. I'm not sure either of us could handle that.”  
  
“Then maybe just one thing at a time. You could tell him you like lads and leave it at that?” Pippin asked. Frodo nodded.  
  
“But even then, I'd be afraid of making him uncomfortable with me. We're close. And we rely on one another. And we've only grown closer as all this trouble grows deeper.”  
  
“Then it's a choice, isn't it? Keep quiet and feel like you have to hide from him, or tell him and risk your closeness.”  
  
“This is still just talk. I don't owe anyone that truth about myself. It's personal,” Frodo bristled, “even Sam isn't owed that.” Pippin flicked his gaze up and gave him a thoughtful look.  
  
“Exactly, it's your choice,” he agreed.  
  
“Right,” Frodo breathed.   
  
“As you say, I've meet all sorts of hobbits,” Pippin went on gently, “I may not act like it around you all, but I’ve had to learn to be careful who I trust.” He paused, “Sam is a good hobbit. He's someone worthy of trusting in. Even I can see that, and I only know him a bit.” Frodo sighed, “you just have to decide if you want to.”  
  
“Do you really think I should tell him?” Frodo asked in a small voice.  
  
“I tend to think it’s better to be honest,” Pippin said carefully, “especially with the people I love.” Frodo nodded. “But I’ll not pretend to know how hard it is to tell someone something like that. It must be something you want to do for your own sake and for the sake of your relationship with him. Don’t feel like we’re judging you.”  
  
“When did you get so grown up and wise?”  
  
“I am not!”  
  
“Grown up or wise?”  
  
“Neither!” Pippin huffed. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“Still, I wonder if the choice may be made for me,” he said quietly and closed his eyes, “is it really so obvious that I have more than just friendly feelings for Sam?” he asked, and felt his cheeks go hot.   
  
“To me and Merry, yes,” Pippin said, “but we know you so.”  
  
“All I can hope is that it isn't obvious to Sam,” he sighed and opened his eyes and saw that Pippin was gazing up at him. “Sam's sheltered enough that I suspect he doesn't know much about the business. But I can't be sure.” Pippin's gaze lowered and he leaned into Frodo's side.  
  
“Do what you feel is best. Whatever it is, we're with you,” he said quietly.  
  
“Thank you, sweet Took,” Frodo said and put his arm around Pippin's shoulders, feeling a deep peace settle into his heart.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Sam went into Number Three and spied his father by the fire, but the older Gamgee only glanced at his son. Sam nodded to him and went to the back of the smial, replacing the envelope into the small chest of important papers that the Gaffer kept on a high shelf. He then turned away and stepped into to his room and closed the door.   
  
He felt hot and his feelings were still in a tangle. How could Frodo have done that to him? How could he make such an important decision and not tell his Sam? Sam felt the tears start again and swiped at them angrily. Well, Frodo Baggins didn’t have to tell him anything; he was after all only a gardener.   
  
_This hurts more than it should,_ he thought. Why should it hurt at all? Frodo was free to dispose of his property as he saw fit. The fact that he’d decided to bestow it on Sam should make him feel honored. But instead, there was mostly pain in his heart.   
  
“He didn’t say anything. And it’s too much,” Sam mumbled to himself, “and I’d have to go up to Bag End every day. And he wouldn’t be there.” There. That was the root of the pain. Sam sat on his bed and crumpled. The thought of that loss in his life, and knowing that Frodo had designed his future to include that loss...   
  
Sam stood and went to the chest at the foot of his bed, leaned down and put his hands on the oak wood. It wasn’t surprising that Frodo would feel protective of the Gamgees. It was exactly what his uncle had wished after all, and Frodo loved the Gamgee family at least as much as Bilbo had. Sam listened to the household. It was quiet. The Gaffer was likely on his way to a doze by the fire and the girls and Hamson were gone off somewhere. Sam opened the chest and dug down deep until he found the false bottom that he had installed nearly ten years ago. Carefully he wedged his finger down to unfasten the latch and opened the compartment. Inside a thick purse, dusty now, met his questing fingers. Sam pulled it up and hefted the weight of the sack.  
  
Bilbo Baggins had been very dear to Sam, and it seemed the feeling had been mutual in the old master. The day of his party, the last that Bilbo had spent in the Shire, he had called Sam from the garden during a quiet period when he had sent everyone out of the smial to attend to party business so that it was just the two of them. Bilbo had taken Sam into his study and sat him down.  
  
“Sam-lad you’ve been doing wonders in the garden,” Bilbo had said to him, “Gandalf himself commented on it, and he’s not one for false praise, nor even noticing the garden ordinarily, let me tell you.” Sam had gone red faced and clasped his hands together.  
  
“Oh that’s kind of you to say sir, and of Mr. Gandalf,” he remembered saying.   
  
“I’ve something for you,” Bilbo reached down beside his chair for a small sack and Sam’s heart and beat faster. Bilbo’s birthday mathoms were usually very nice for him and his family. Gingerly Bilbo handed the sack to Sam and Sam gasped at the weight and felt coins sliding inside. He looked up at Bilbo in shock, for there must have been enough money in that sack to feed the Gamgees for a year, even if the coins were only copper pieces, and Sam suspected they weren’t.   
  
“Oh sir! No I can’t-” he began but Bilbo interrupted him.  
  
“Nonsense lad,” he said gruffly, “listen to me, you and your family have served this household for decades, and much of it unpaid favors. I want to know that the Gamgees will be alright, even if I’m not here to personally see to your comfort.” Sam had blinked at that, but Bilbo went on quickly, “Don’t give that sack to your father either. He’s even more stubborn that you, and he’ll sooner throw it in a creek than accept such from me,” he said looking irritated, “And if you try to give it back to me I shall be really insulted Samwise, so hide it away and if you have need of it use it.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam had said then, “I’ll keep it safe.” And he would. Secretly, Sam had decided then that he was safe guarding this money for Mr. Bilbo.  
  
“Good lad,” Bilbo said, “You know, Frodo and I are very fond of you. You make our lives quite a bit brighter and I don’t just mean the garden.” That had sent Sam blushing harder.  
  
“Oh thank you sir, it’s the same for me,” he said. Bilbo had looked wistful then and smiled.  
  
“There are a lot of good memories here. I shall like thinking back on the stories we all shared by the fire. You and Frodo under that wool blanket- the dwarves gave me that, did I ever tell you? - And me in my reading chair. I have always liked an appreciative audience for my tales.” He had laughed then and said, “You must forgive an old hobbit his reminiscing.”   
  
“Nay sir,” Sam had said, trying not to cry, “Those were good times for me too. I like your stories, and Mr. Frodo’s.” That had made Bilbo happy and he cast a thoughtful look at Sam.  
  
“Frodo adores you,” he had said quietly, “Don’t ever let anything come between you lads. I should hate to see such a friendship broken.”  
  
“Nay sir,” Sam had replied and his heart had been filled with an unexpected joy.   
  
Now, Sam stared at the sack and let out a long sigh. It was his own fault he was so hurt, he knew. _It wouldn’t hurt half much if I hadn’t been such a fool these last days,_ he thought. He’d been giving into urges that he had no right to give into. Holding Frodo's hand, embracing him, kissing him. Letting himself feel those deep warm things. It had felt so good. And Frodo had looked at him with such welcome in his eyes. It was hard to think of Frodo hurting him so, when they lay together, hands clasped, peering into one another’s faces, freely admitting that there was love between them. He’d trusted his heart to Frodo.   
  
And then, when Frodo told him he could come with him, he’d never felt such a blend of terror and joy. It was Frodo’s warm hand in his own, his adoring gaze, and deeply reassuring presence that had stilled Sam's fear until only a single realization was left. He would follow Frodo. He would walk away from everything he’d ever know and everyone else he’d ever loved and the place in life set out for him. It was what his heart wanted and it felt right. And that was enough.  
  
That was why he'd sat on the bedside the following morning, looking down into Frodo's face as he slept, still rooted in that realization, and leaned down to kiss his brow. _I love you and I will stay with you, No matter where you go. For as long as you want me,_  he'd pledged to him then.  
  
But now, did his love and willingness to follow even matter? _Of course it does,_ he told himself, pained that he'd even questioned it. _Frodo'd not lie to me like that. That will was writ out years ago. Before he had any idea I’d want to follow after him,_ he scolded himself.   
  
Frodo did love him, he knew that, and he would never keep this heirship plan from him out of malice or mistrust. It was his kindness getting in the way of his wisdom. _I might have a few things to say to him, and I might be a bit angry, but I'll not let this come between us. I'll speak my piece and then we'll see,_ he thought. _I'll not break my word to Mr. Bilbo. And I’ll not break my pledge to Frodo._  
  
Sam rose and replaced the sack of coins, sealing it back in its dusty hiding place. Then he went to the door and stepped out into the living smial. His father opened his eyes and fixed Sam in his gaze as Sam went to sit beside him.  
  
“I’ve a mind to tear that paper,” the Gaffer growled, “but that wouldn’t change anything would it?”  
  
“No, Dad,” Sam murmured.   
  
“I just can’t believe he’d not tell us.”  
  
“He knew we’d say no to it.”  
  
“I suppose he did,” Hamfast sighed, “Mr. Frodo is very wise, but his heart is too kind and he don’t know how hard this world can be. He trusts all will work out if he says so. But it ain’t so.”  
  
“No sir,” Sam whispered. His father glanced at him.

“Are you alright son?”  
  
“Yes, sir. Just shocked by it.”  
  
“You two are so close. Before today, I’d have thought he’d tell you everything.” Sam kept quiet. “Don’t be too angry with him, Sam. Don’t you go deciding that it’s your right to know all of Mr. Frodo’s business.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“You just keep out of it. If there’s to be hard words with Mr. Frodo you let me speak them.” _Oh_ , Sam thought feeling a stab of guilt. _Hard words should not come from Sam Gamgee. Not directed at Frodo Baggins anyway. Of course._  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“It's a waste for him to have writ such a will. I know those Baggines like their drama and I know he done all this to score off his old Aunt, but it’s all of it a shame, and I'm very sorry it was ever read out. It's made problems for all of us. Mr. Frodo too,” Hamfast nodded as he settled back in his chair. Sam blinked at him. “Mr. Frodo will have a wife before too much longer, and then babes, and then he'll have to write a whole new will. What he puts in that will of his will change. As it ought. But now everyone knows that he put you there, as a placeholder till he finds a nice gentlehobbit wife.” The Gaffer paused, “Yes, it would be best all around, if the lad would settle down, don't you think?”  
  
“Well,” Sam mumbled uncomfortably.  
  
“You'll see. Give it a few years,” the Gaffer nodded, “once that happens, we won't have no more of this will talk. T'will be clear to everyone where Mr. Frodo's money will go then.” Sam sank into silence. He felt lost, out in this strange landscape of hard feelings. He ought to listen to his father. His resolve from before melted away.   
  
He'd be quiet when he saw Frodo next. He'd thank him, as was proper, and he might say a few careful words to let Frodo know that he'd been hurt, but no hardness would pass his lips. He'd been rash before. He'd snapped at Merry and that hadn't been right. He'd not make it worse by raising his voice against Frodo. He might still feel pinned between love and anger and pain and his position, but he wasn't smart enough to work himself free. He ought to listen to his father. He ought to listen to Frodo.   
  
“Samwise? You don't look well, son,” his father said, concern in his voice.  
  
“I'm worried over it all, sir,” Sam managed to say. His father nodded.  
  
“Don't you think on it too much, lad. It's going to be alright. I'll take care of it, and Mr. Frodo will take care of it. You trust him, lad. He's a good hobbit.”  
  
“Yes sir.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

“It’s all gone wrong!” Lotho shouted at Hob. They were walking back to town, and Hob hoped they were going to the Green Dragon. It was past time for second breakfast and he was hungry and thought Lotho needed to sit someplace dark and cool. Hob grimaced and stuck his hands in his pockets.  
  
“You still ain't told me what's got you so hot,” Hob complained. Lotho spat out a curse and Hob sighed. When Lotho got angry like this he wasn't always able to tell a coherant story. Hob had learned to be patient. They approached Hobbiton, where most hobbits took one look at Lotho's face and went on their way quickly without saying good morning. The exception was the post hobbit, who made a beeline for them.   
  
“I'm not going out to the foreigner's cart,” Hob called as the hobbit drew near, trying to forestall Lotho snapping out something rude to the hobbit. The post hobbit blinked.  
  
“Oh, no, I just had a letter for Mr. Lotho,” he said.  
  
“Oh. Sorry,” Hob offered.   
  
“Sir,” the post hobbit nodded to Lotho, ducking his head as he dug into his bag, drawing out an envelope.  
  
“Thank you,” Lotho said stiffly and took the envelope. The post hobbit nodded and said goodbye, disappearing down the road. Hob paused with him in the lane as Lotho tore it open and read.   
  
“That evil little toad!” Lotho shouted. Hob jumped.  
  
“Hey, come on, let's not make a scene,” he hissed, pulling Lotho out of the lane, much to the obvious relief of the nearest town folk.  
  
“Conniving smarmy low rent no account interloping dandy!”   
  
“Lotho,” Hob sighed as they came to a halt under a stand of oaks outside of town.  
  
“That son of sheep farmer!” Lotho shouted, holding up the letter, looking almost apoplectic.  
  
“Lotho?” Hob asked warily.   
  
“That that,” he hissed, “that damnable Brandybuck!”  
  
“Oh! Frodo Baggins?” Hob supplied.  
  
“He’s gone and fucked me!”  
  
“Er,” Hob blinked at this, “really? I’d not have thought he’d-”  
  
“He did an end run round proper law and found some shitty scrap that claims to be a deed for the row land.”  
  
“Oh right,” Hob hummed, “so?”  
  
“So it’s got all the proper signatures,” Lotho said through his teeth, “which means my land dispute is going to be dismissed.”  
  
“Sorry Lo,” Hob said, “but it was only the row.”  
  
“You don't understand. You don't know what else he's done,” Lotho snarled, “He made his damned gardener his heir! To Bag End! To all of it! That cabbage brained oaf!”  
  
“What?”   
  
“And with Frodo gone off, Bag End, is being held in trust, by Sam fucking Gamgee.”  
  
“In trust?”  
  
“And in perpetuity, if Frodo's will goes into effect,” Lotho nearly howled, “At least old Gamgee has the decency to protest. That was proper. But young Gamgee was too simple to do even that! If anything I’ll bet the boy was thinking about all those riches and how now he can get his grubby hands on them.”  
  
“Oh come on,” Hob snorted. Lotho turned away, throwing the letter down on the ground, stamping off.  
  
“That night-walking, book obsessed, smial stealing, peculiar insufferable river rat! He’s fucked me from both sides!”  
  
“We’re still speaking metaphorically aren’t we? Otherwise you’ll make his gardener jealous,” Hob noted.  
  
“Fuck his gardener.”  
  
“No thank you. I’ve already earned myself enough of Mr. Baggins’ ire,” Hob sighed. Lotho turned back.  
  
“How’s that?”  
  
“I told him I was the one who slipped Sam the root.” Lotho eyes bulged.  
  
“You told him? Why?”  
  
“It was the right thing.”  
  
“He’d have been within rights to beat you.”  
  
“He almost did I think. He was furious.”  
  
“You realize Frodo is working his way down a list of serious crimes to commit on you. If you’re lucky those cousins of his have got him down past arson.”  
  
“Oh bull,” Hob said, but he felt a touch nervous. Lotho only chuckled darkly.   
  
“I think it’s time that I had a talk with that Big Person,” he after a moment, “about more than weed sales.”  
  
“Oh no,” Hob groaned.   
  
“If you don’t like it stay out of it Hob,” Lotho cautioned, “I’m going to hire on that wizard and get Frodo Baggins out of Bag End for good. And take care of the Gamgees.”  
  
“Lotho, don't. It ain't worth it,” Hob said. Lotho fixed in his gaze. There was a coldness in his expression that Hob had never seen.  
  
“Bag End is going to be mine. I don't care what I have to do.”

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Merry and Fatty had retreated to the kitchen for second breakfast. They were both quiet, eating and drinking tea. Merry stewed, lost in thought. Finally Fatty cleared his throat.  
  
“This is getting to be dangerous,” he said. Merry sent him a look.  
  
“Ready to get out are you?”  
  
“Now Merry, don't be like that,” Fatty said, “I meant that it's getting dangerous for Frodo. He needs numbers on his side.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I think the Bolgers can help there.”  
  
“Want to rally the troops?”  
  
“Something like that,” Fatty grinned, “If Lotho is going to call on his band of Shirriffs then I'm going to bring a band of feisty Bolgers, who will offer unprompted and unwanted opinions at every turn.” Merry laughed.  
  
“Think a bandy of partying drunk Bolgers is a match for Shirriffs?”  
  
“Well,” Fatty mused, “my relatives are belligerent drunks.”  
  
“So what branch of Bolgers will you call on? The wild North Farthing Bolgers?”  
  
“I think I'll stick closer. I've a mind to head home to Budgeford. My family might send a rider up north, but I can't bear to go that far and leave Frodo in the lurch.”  
  
“Alright then.”   
  
“You find Frodo and Pippin. Get them some food. Frodo might be alright scrapping by off forage, but Pippin will be driving him up the wall if he doesn't get his square six.”  
  
“Oh poo,” Merry snorted, “you underestimate Pippin. We go tramping over Buckland all the time. Pippin's handy out in the woods. You just still think of him as a child.” Fatty laughed.  
  
“Maybe I do.”  
  
“If we both go off, Bag End is left empty,” Merry said quietly. Fatty nodded.  
  
“Samwise,” he said. Merry winced.   
  
“Sam's not going to sit up at Bag End while I go look for Frodo.”  
  
“Then, maybe the Gamgees. Marigold and Daisy and that brother of his.”  
  
“Yes well,” Merry groused, “we have to get the Gamgees on speaking terms with us first.”  
  
“I'm sure you'll manage,” Fatty said lightly. Merry scowled.  
  
“Why is it my job?”  
  
“Oh, Sam likes you.”  
  
“Not anymore than he likes the rest of us.” Merry grumbled and set back to work on his eggs. As the minutes went by he turned his mind back onto a particular problem he'd been turning over in his mind. He felt like he was on the verge of solving it.   
  
“Pass the jam,” Fatty pointed, "and just so you know-" Merry sent him an irritated look. He needed quiet. Fatty went quiet at the look, snorted in indignation and rose to pour himself more tea. Merry sat back and slammed his fork down.  
  
“Yes! I need to talk to the Gamgees!” he cried.  
  
“I told you,” Fatty said mildly. Merry blinked and turned a frown on him.  
  
“Not that,” he said. Fatty sipped his tea and waited. Merry pushed his chair up and bolted out, leaving half his breakfast. “Merry!” Fatty called, “not going to fill me in?”  
  
“Later!” Merry promised, as he yanked the door open and drug it back into place behind him.  
  
A few minutes later, Merry stood before Number Three. Gathering his courage, he knocked on the door. A moment later the door opened and Sam peered out at him.  
  
“Yes sir?” he asked.  
  
“Sam, I'm so very sorry,” Merry said, “I was in the wrong.” Sam blinked and opened the door.  
  
“Nay, Mr. Merry,” he said “You ought not apologize for what he done. And I shouldn’t have been short with you and that’s a fact.”  
  
“You was short with Mr. Merry?” came a gruff demand from further in the smial. Sam visibly winced.  
  
“He was well within his rights!” Merry said quickly and loudly. He turned a rueful look on Sam and added, “I should have said something.”  
  
“T'wasn't your doing,” Sam said grimly. Merry nodded.  
  
“Well, I suppose not. But Fatty and I have agreed that it was our duty as Frodo's friends to convince him that it was a bad idea keeping it from you. We failed there.” Sam smiled wanly.  
  
“Could have been worse, sir. We could have been declared squatters,” he said. Merry laughed.  
  
“I was a little afraid you were angry enough to go find that judge and have Fatty and I thrown out.”  
  
“Now, sir,” Sam chuckled, “do you want to come in?”  
  
“Yes,” Merry said and Sam stepped aside. His father was seated at the table. He eyed Merry a moment, then nodded a greeting. Merry nodded back, almost bowing as he entered, and turned his attention back to Sam. “I've a few matters to discuss with you. Ah. A few other matters. But first,” he paused, “has the door to Number Three ever been defaced?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Has anyone put a mark on it?” he asked. Sam looked bewildered.   
  
“No. What mark?”  
  
“Our door never had no mark on it. I bought it from the Oatbarton fair and made sure it was good smooth hard wood,” Ham said proudly, “not like our old one. Some hooligan at Mr. Bilbo's party carved his initials in it.”  
  
“What?” Merry said excitement lighting though him. The Gamgees stared at him, like he's gone mad. “Where is the old door?” Merry cried, “it’s still about, isn’t it?  
  
“Oh yes sir,” Hamfast said, bewildered, “but how did you know?”  
  
“Where?” Merry demanded.  
  
“It’s the back door now. And I had such a time sanding and repainting the old thing.”  
  
“Mr. Merry?” Sam yelped as Merry darted into the back.   
  
“The door, your backdoor, I think it was Gandalf who marked your door,” Merry said excited.  
  
“He never!” Hamfast snorted, “I'd not credit such!”  
  
“It's a mark of protection,” Merry said, “we found one on Frodo’s door too, chopped to bits now. But I got to thinking, Frodo was safe here too and that made me wonder.”  
  
“Gandalf marked both our smials? With his magic?” Sam said blinking. Merry nodded.  
  
“We knew he marked Bag End with his sign all those years ago. I thought it might just have been that creatures don't like wizard marks, but why would Gandalf put his mark at Number Three if not to set down some protection?” Merry laughed, “and on the night he asked you for Sam's help defending Frodo! It all makes sense.”  
  
“I'm glad it makes sense to you, Mr. Merry,” Hamfast said with raised eyebrows. Merry turned back to the old gardener.  
  
“Mr. Gamgee, can I buy your back door?”  
  
“Mr. Merry!” Hamfast said, shocked, “you're out of your head! Begging your pardon!”  
  
“He might not be, Da,” Sam said quietly, “I didn't follow all of that. But I think I get the idea,” he turned to Merry, “you want to move our door up to Bag End? You think the magic will work if the door is moved, sir?”  
  
“Well, it worked to keep the creatures out of Number Three, and you moved it to the back. I would think it would be alright to move it. And no, not Bag End. Bag End is being stalked nightly. It's too dangerous for Frodo to return. No. I want to take the door out to this hole where Frodo has hidden himself.”  
  
“It mightn't fit,” Sam said weakly.   
  
“I'll make it fit! We'll make it fit! You've done to wood work, haven't you? No? Well I have!”  
  
“Mr. Merry, you are making me worry a little,” Sam said gently.  
  
“Or, you could just bring Mr. Frodo here,” Hamfast said sternly. Merry blinked.  
  
“Oh,” he said, “could we?”  
  
“I'm not heartless enough to turn the poor lad out if this is the only safe place for him,” Hamfast said, “bring him here Mr. Merry.”  
  
“Frodo might be a little unhappy about bringing the threat of danger to Number Three,” Merry cautioned. Hamfast snorted.  
  
“It's a little too late for Mr. Frodo to go worrying about getting us Gamgees too deep in his business.”  
  
“Point taken,” Merry said quickly.  
  
“You get him to come here, both of you,” Hamfast told them. “And I need to have a talk with the young master anyway.” Merry was about to answer when there was a sound from outside. He paused and turned to the window. It sounded like shouting. Sam frowned and followed his gaze.  
  
“What in the Shire is that racket?” Hamfast complained, rising, “Who's a shouting on our road?” Sam went to the window and peered out.  
  
“Shirriffs!” he cried, “a whole lot of them. More than I ever seen.”  
  
“What?” Merry gasped and went to stand beside him. The Row road was crawling with Shirriffs, all wearing caps with red feathers in them. South Farthing Shirriffs. They were stationing themselves across the Row and the Hill, peering out into the countryside. Each holding thick sticks and shouting orders to one another.   
  
"They're out back too!" came Ham's voice, "setting up a tent!"   
  
"A tent? They're meaning to stay, then," Sam gasped.  
  
"Lor' there's a host of them," Ham said unhappily, "they're got eyes all over the field and Row and Hill!"  Merry felt his heart sink.  
  
They couldn't bring Frodo back to Number Three.


	15. The Difference

“Think we can get Mr. Frodo back here?” Sam asked under his breath. Merry shook his head.  
  
“I can't stomach risking it,” Merry said, watching the crowd of Shirriffs patrol the Hill and Row lane.  
  
“I said it afore, but honest, I've never seen this many Shirriffs in one place,” Sam said.  
  
“They've a red feather. South Farthing,” Merry said thoughtfully, “Lotho has a lot of influence down there. He's got loads of property. Some his father left him. Some he's bought,” he trailed off, “he's clearly put in the work to have the South Farthing Shirriffs at his beck and call.”  
  
“That makes me shivery it does,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Courage. Even if we could get Frodo back to Number Three, what then? He'd be trapped. Surrounded by Shirriffs who'd arrest him the moment he poked his head up in front of a window.” He paused, “Alright. So if we can't get Frodo back here... I suppose it's my mad plan.”  
  
“They might notice us carting a door off.”  
  
“So what? What do they care about that?”  
  
“What if they follow us?” Sam murmured.  
  
“Yes. That’s a real danger. Think we can get the Cottons to help us?” Merry asked. Sam cocked his head.  
  
“I think so. What with sir?”  
  
“If it’s the Cottons hauling off that door and disappearing down the road and not Sam Gamgee and Merry Brandybuck...”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
“The pair of us will leave going to Hobbiton. Stay there long enough to know if we’ve been followed, lose anyone who has, and then meet up with the Cottons...”  
  
“Lor, Mr. Merry, that’s a fine plan,” Sam said admiringly and turned back to his father. “Can we take the door Dad?” Hamfast sighed and crossed his arms.  
  
“If Mr. Frodo needs our back door, then he'll have our back door. It don't none of it make any sense to me, but not much of Mr. Frodo's doing do.” He shifted his gaze to Merry, "Sir, you tell Mr. Frodo that there's not many hobbits I'd do this for.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Merry said solemnly.  
  
“How will you keep Number Three shut up, ought I to do something before I head off?” Sam asked guilty.  
  
“Nay. Hamson and me will get something to board it up. Don't you go fretting Samwise,” the old gardener said.  
  
“Could we borrow Marigold and Daisy then?” Merry asked quietly. The Gamgees turned to stare at him, “we need someone up at Bag End, keeping an eye on things, while Sam and I go off. And Frodo’s Bounders are supposed to come to the Hill today and if they do, then someone must meet them. Fatty is going to Budgeford to get help, you see.”  
  
“Alright, I’ll send the lasses up,” Hamfast sighed.  
  
“Thank you Mr. Gamgee,” Merry said, bowing low, “you have the gratitude of Buckland, and if I can speak for Frodo, the gratitude of the Bagginses of the Hill.”  
  
“None of that Mr, Merry,” the Gaffer said gruffly, “this is just what we do.” Merry straightened and gave him a smile.  
  
“If you say so.”

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Sam held the reigns of the Twofoot's pony, Salvia and spoke soft words to her. They were standing at the old bridge deep in the woods. They'd had a busy few hours.  
  
First, Sam had written the letter for his brother and run down to the Cotton farm to enlist their help. He'd come back to find his father and brother just finishing with the door. Sam had gazed at it, amazed that their plain old back door had the touch of magic on it and had for all these years, if Merry was right. And now, that magic was going to help keep Frodo safe.  
  
The Cottons arrived soon after and put it in their cart, hitched to their pony, Coalfoot and Daddy Twofoot's pony, Salvia. Merry had taken Daisy, Hamson, and Marigold up to Bag End, packed food and supply bags for Frodo and Pippin, and helped Fatty get Thorin ready for their journey. Fatty had left not long after, promising to be back within a day or so.  
  
Sam went briefly up to Bag End to collect the bags that Merry had packed and took them down to Number Three to load onto the Cotton's cart. He cast scowls at the Shirriffs who eyed him suspiciously and thought long and hard about making a rude gesture at them. Merry had forbid him from doing anything to provoke the Shirriffs and Sam grudgingly accepted this. He’d returned to Bag End and gave what he considered very brief instructions to his siblings about how to close up Bag End for the night. Brief though his instructions might have been, he got a few impatient looks and a few muttered comments, which he charitably ignored. Merry hastened to add that he planned to be back at Bag End before nightfall to look after the place. The Gamgees looked relieved to hear this.  
  
After waiting a short time, Sam and Merry slunk out the back of Bag End and went down the far side of the Hill, keeping to the little used back roads. They took a few detours and walked through Frodo's back orchards, eventually making their way toward Hobbiton. Sam took Merry around back where they slipped into the Dragon's cellar.  
  
By virtue of some exploration he'd done as a boy, Sam knew there was a passage under the Dragon, that led down to the Water. It had been built long ago when it was more common for Hobbits in the West Farthing to use boats for transport. In those days, he'd been told that ale casks and all manner of goods had been floated down the Water, and there were little docks, lining the river, where hobbits might board or unload. Now, the passage was unused, except by the more adventurous children. Sam had once led a group of boys and girls down the passage, telling them the story of Smaug, make believing that they were walking down that dark tunnel deep in the Lonely Mountain, at the end of which slept the dragon on his hoard. He'd scared the daylights out of them, himself included.  
  
“Do you suppose we've really been followed?” Merry whispered. Sam chuckled.  
  
“Don't know, but I think this little trick will throw them off. We'll have a clear shot to the wood north of town, and we can slip off easy without no one in town spotting anything.”  
  
“Bless you Samwise for knowing about this,” Merry laughed, “we make a good team I think.”  
  
“Thank you Mr. Merry. I have to admit, my use outside of ten miles of here ain't nothing hardly.”  
  
“Well I don't believe that for a moment.”  
  
“Kind of you, sir,” Sam said, smiling.  
  
They escaped into the woods without incident and met up with the Cottons on the back roads at their appointed meeting place. Then, it was only a matter of getting the supply bags onto their backs and leading Salvia down narrow trails hardly used, until they were at the old stone bridge. Sam listened to the woods, but all was silent. They seemed to have gotten away cleanly.  
  
The pony whickered to him, blinking slowly and Sam patted her broad head. They'd had to leave the cart with the Cottons and tied the door onto Sal's back to move through the woods. The Cottons braced it with staves and did a fair job tying it down, but it was still a heavy and cumbersome load, and it still took a hobbit walking alongside her to make sure the load didn't slide or overbalance. Sam hoped they wouldn't have too far to go.  
  
“Such a good girl,” he cooed to her. He knew that door was heavy and blessed the pony for bearing it. “Not much more, dearie.” He glanced down the embankment and saw Merry's head emerge as he climbed back up the bank from beneath the bridge.  
  
“They left us a note!” he called.  
  
“Oh,” Sam sighed in relief.  
  
“Due north to the North Farthing bounds, then northeast for one mile. Look for a stand of oaks and a ridge,” Merry read.  
  
“Only a mile from the bounds,” Sam murmured, “I think I have an idea of where we're headed.”  
  
“Good. I'm counting on you.”  
  
They walked through the wood, moving slower now that there was no road. Merry was obliged to come and hold the other side of the door, helping to keep it balanced as the pony trudge through the wood with them. They spoke a little as they walked, and Sam decided that he might not get another stretch of time with Merry for a while and he had some things he wanted answered.  
  
“Sir, “ he said, “I've been wondering about this Conspiracy business,” he said slowly. Merry turned to glanced over the pony at him, “can I ask, what set all this off? You told me once it was rumors and things, but that don't seem to be the whole picture.”  
  
“There's some things I'd rather not speak on,” Merry said carefully, “it's not that I don't trust you. I do!”  
  
“I know that,” Sam said, “Mr. Pippin said that you keep some things back about it cause you think it's dangerous.” Merry sent him an amazed look.  
  
“That's right. And,” he paused glancing at the trees around them, “and I think it's dangerous to talk. There are ears everywhere.”  
  
“Ears?” Sam blinked. Merry chuckled.  
  
“Remember Bilbo's story about the little bird who overheard their conversation about the dragon's armaments? And then the bird told the men of Lake Town?”  
  
“You think the birds are spies?”  
  
“Maybe. You never know,” Merry said quietly, then laughed, “you're thinking I'm cracked now.”  
  
“No sir,” Sam said, “I know a lot of folk think Mr. Bilbo's tales are fancy and naught more. But I'm not one of them. And if you say it's dangerous to speak secrets, then I take you at your word,” he paused, “but I wondered if there was anymore you could tell me? It seems like you been watching Mr. Frodo a while now. How long?”  
  
“Oh,” Merry said, “Really, I’ve been watching Frodo since Bilbo left. They're so alike, you know. And I wondered if Frodo wouldn't just take off down the road after him. He loved Bilbo so, and he loved having a home.” Merry chuckled softly, “you know that better than I, I'm sure. But I suppose I started paying more attention to Frodo after he did a few concerning things. His talk turned a little more restless. And then he filed a new will and then he kept tinkering with it these past few years.” He coughed, probably regretting bringing up the will again.  
  
“Anyone with an estate like Mr. Frodo’s might do that,” Sam said.  
  
“He might. But, Frodo isn’t one to arrange affairs before he feels a need to. It wasn't only his will. He began to consolidate holdings, working to make his affairs simpler and more straightforward. He was clearly getting his affairs in order. That worried us.” Sam thought on that, then scowled.  
  
“How would you know all this sir?”  
  
“Oh,” Merry grinned, “That's all down to Fatty. He has spies in both the East and West Farthing Courts of Ordinary.”  
  
“Now you're scaring me, Mr. Merry,” Sam grumbled. Merry laughed.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Merry led the pony up a little embankment and stopped. There were the oaks, and the ridge with the little hole built into the side. Pippin was seated just outside and his head shot up at their appearance. He jumped to his feet with a whoop and rushed to them, throwing himself at Merry. Merry laughed and caught him.  
  
“Hey there!” he cried and put his arms around his cousin. Pippin looked up into his face, his expression delighted, though he brushed away a few tears.  
  
“You’re late!” he accused. Merry ruffled his hair.  
  
“I’m sorry. I did the best I could. Honest.”  
  
“I thought they shut you up in the old lock holes,” he said, clearly aiming for lightness in his voice, but it came out with an edge of fear under it. _This was hard on him,_ Merry realized.  
  
“Not me!” Merry laughed and patted Pippin's back, hoping to make him laugh.  
  
“Mr. Merry sent those folks packing,” Sam said approvingly.  
  
“Oh! Sam!” Pippin cried in surprise, apparently having missed Sam where he stood behind the pony and her load. The boy released Merry, rushing to Sam and plowed into him.  
  
“Hey!” Sam scolded though he returned Pippin’s embrace, “Mr. Pippin, you're getting too big to be knocking into a hobbit like that!”  
  
“Sorry Sam,” Pippin chuckled, “I’m just happy to see you.”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
Merry turned to see Frodo emerge from the hole and run to meet them.  
  
“There you are!” Frodo said, his voice relieved.  
  
“Sorry to make you worry,” Merry greeted him and went to Frodo, clasping his hand. Frodo pulled him into a hug, and Merry felt a rush of gratitude at the gesture.  
  
“Everything alright? Where’s Fatty?” Frodo asked, his eyes moving past Merry to where Pippin and Sam stood.  
  
“Riding hard to the East Farthing. He’s calling in reinforcements,” Merry said.  
  
“Reinforcements?” Frodo asked, leaving Merry to go to Sam. Sam met his eyes shyly and nodded.  
  
“If you won’t leave and seek shelter with your friends then we’re going to bring your friends here,” Merry said wryly. Frodo snorted, then turned his attention to his gardener.  
  
“Sam,” he said warmly and moved to embrace him. Sam stiffened slightly, but then his arms came up and settled on Frodo’s back. His eyes slipped closed and Merry smiled to see it.  
  
“I don’t know what to say,” Frodo said quietly, drawing back to look over at Merry.  
  
“Say thank you, and that you’re touched that so many people love you so,” Pippin laughed.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo agreed, "I'm touched." His eyes moved to the pony. “And... What is... Sam! Is this your back door?” He asked in astonishment.  
  
“Eh. It is,” Sam said, sounding almost sheepish.  
  
“Why in the Shire?”  
  
“Mr. Merry can tell you better than I,” Sam demurred.  
  
“Pip, help Sam get the door off that poor pony,” Merry said, “Frodo, take Sam’s bag and we’ll get these supplies unpacked and I’ll tell you all about it.” Frodo smiled at his bossiness.  
  
“Alright,” he said and took the bag from Sam’s shoulders. Sam nodded to him again and turned to the pony, speaking softly to her as he and Pippin worked at the load ties.  
  
When Merry entered the hole he gave it a swift look and nodded in approval.  
  
“Cozy little place. I expected far worse,” he said, “and a fire going! I am glad.”  
  
“So what’s this about the Gamgees back door?" Frodo asked, following him in, "If I didn’t know better I’d think this some prank.”  
  
“Never mind the door,” Merry dropped his voice low, glancing outside and went to close the door, “come here.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Lotho came up the Hill this morning with Judge Greyfoot. Tried to get ownership of Bag End since you were a criminal on the run.”  
  
“What!”  
  
“I stopped it, it's alright.”  
  
“Thank you. But whatever-” Frodo began but Merry silenced him.  
  
“Hush, I have a lot to tell you and they’ll have the door sorted in a minute.”  
  
“Oh? This isn't secret-”  
  
“Just listen would you?”  
  
“Alright. Go on.”  
  
“I stopped Lotho," Merry said quietly, "but to do it I had to get the sealed copy of your will from the Gamgees." Frodo went still.  
  
“Did they...?”  
  
“Yes. They know now. And they are not best pleased with you,” he said, “Sam was quite angry.”  
  
“Angry?” Frodo breathed, “what about exactly?”  
  
“I didn't get into it with him,” Merry said wincing, “it was unsettling enough to see him angry at you.”  
  
“He just hugged me and...”  
  
“He's spent the last day and night worried out of his head about you. Of course he was relieved to see you alright. That doesn't mean he's not angry.”  
  
“Oh. Right.”  
  
He told Frodo briefly about what had happened during his absence on the Hill.  
  
“And now there are Shirriffs stationed all around the Hill and row,” he finished, “Just waiting to jump on you.”  
  
“I didn’t do anything!” Frodo spat.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“We have to find that child. Poor babe.”  
  
“As if we didn’t have enough to handle,” Merry sighed. Frodo sat down in front of the fire and groaned. Merry went to sit beside him.  
  
“What am I going to do?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Well. One step at a time. We find the child and-”  
  
“No. I mean further on. If Hobbiton hates me,” Frodo said quietly. Merry gave him a crooked smile.  
  
“Well, if they run you out of town you can always come live in Buckland,” he said, trying to make light of it, “I’ll find you a nice cozy house near the river.” Frodo sniffed.  
  
“Always trying to get me back to Buckland,” he complained. Merry chuckled and Frodo leaned against his side.  
  
“I'll make sure it has a garden,” he added teasingly. Frodo closed his eyes and laughed, pressing his face into Merry's shoulder to hide his blush. “And enough space about you so that you don't have prying neighbors.” But Frodo didn't laugh. He only stilled. “Frodo?”  
  
“Having people around me,” Frodo said slowly, “does seem to be dangerous.”  
  
“Frodo,” Merry said in a low warning tone.  
  
“I wonder if Buckland is far enough?” came Frodo's faint voice. Merry felt his heart kick.  
  
“Ah. Well, there's the wilds of the North Farthing,” Merry laughed lightly, “but it would be cold baths and sheep smell always!”  
  
“No thank you!”  
  
“Then maybe Bree! You could hobnob with foreigners to you heart's content,” Merry chuckled.  
  
“Bree,” Frodo mused.  
  
“Bree,” Merry repeated gently, “would be a little far and the road is dangerous these days. But if that's what you wanted, then why not?”  
  
“Would you visit me, all the way out in Bree?” Frodo asked teasingly.  
  
“As often as you'd have me,” Merry said quietly, the lightness evaporating. Frodo turned and put his arms around Merry.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Merry and Pippin soon had the door off. Pippin was remarkably efficient at tearing apart the old fittings and tapping the hinge pins out. Sam watched them, his expression fretful the whole time, though he kept quiet. With the door off, Merry maneuvered Number Three's door in place. They were all gratified to find that it fit, or nearly fit. Merry insisted the spaces around the frame could be filled with something to insulate it. Frodo only frowned and remarked tartly that he would be irritated if they had just destroyed a perfectly good fit for a door that let drafts in. Merry sent him a glare from behind the door.  
  
“Magic door, Frodo,” he growled. Frodo snorted but didn't push. This was, after all, being done for his sake. He wasn't sure that he believed in Merry's theory, but he had to admit there were certain points that made some sense.  
  
“I can't believe Master Gamgee let you take his door!” Frodo laughed and sent Sam a look. It was a little difficult, since Sam was standing outside, and as Merry tested the door, he would lose sight of him. Sam blinked and ducked his head, but didn't offer anything. Frodo felt a cool unease. Sam had never been upset with him and he didn't know what to do about it.  
  
“Fucking damn!” Pippin shouted and doubled over, holding his hand against his stomach.  
  
“Pip?” Frodo went to him.  
  
“Ah! Sorry! Sorry!” Merry cried and pushed inside to stand at Pippin's side. “Alright?”  
  
“No,” Pippin groaned.  
  
“I think I pinched his hand in the door,” Merry winced, “Pip, let me see.” Pippin groaned and gave Merry his hand.  
  
“You got my thumb,” Pippin huffed.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Merry said, holding his hand gently and peering at it. “Poor thing. You'll have to go soak it in the creek. Stop the swelling.” Pippin grumbled a little but did as he was told. Sam and Frodo finished helping Merry with the door. They got it in place and Merry packed the door frame with moss, which he said was as good as any insulation. Frodo had his doubts.  
  
Afterwards, all four gathered before the fire and Frodo passed around a late Afternoon Tea of bread and cheese from the packs, topped with some of their roasted mushrooms from the morning.  
  
“So, what is the plan?” he asked, “You say Marigold and Daisy and Hamson are at Bag End? I suppose someone is headed back there to relieve them?”  
  
“I will,” Merry said, “so that I can lead the Bounders and their Watchers back here, should they be at Bag End by the time I get back.”  
  
“Yes, but,” Frodo frowned, “if they aren't there you'll be at Bag End by yourself.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“That's not safe.”  
  
“I think it's fine. You're not there.”  
  
“But you said the fog was all around the Hill last night. No,” Frodo shook his head, “I do not want anyone up at Bag End by themselves. Besides, if the Bounders are there now, you'd have to bring them here and leave Bag End unguarded.”  
  
“What so important about keeping someone in Bag End anyway?” Pippin scowled. Merry shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“There's valuables,” Frodo said vaguely.  
  
“Them Shirriffs,” Sam growled, “they want to plunder the place.”  
  
“Then can't your brothers and sisters look after Bag End?” Pippin asked him. Sam frowned.  
  
“No, no, no,” Frodo said, “I don't want the Gamgees to be in danger. I don't like that you left them there to begin with! If those Shirriffs come after them, then what are they to do?”  
  
“Marigold had an arsenal of blunt instruments,” Merry mused, “I think she was wanting a chance to put them to use.”  
  
“I want two of you back there, reliving the Gamgees and making sure that none of them come to blows with Shirriffs!” Frodo said hotly. Merry laughed.  
  
“Too late for that I'm afraid. Sam already did,” he said. Frodo blinked and sent an amazed look at Sam.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
“They was chopping down your door,” Sam said simply. Frodo stared.  
  
"Did they harm you?" he asked.  
  
"Eh. Well," Sam coughed.  
  
“I thought I saw a bruise on your cheek. Which Shirriff hurt you?” Frodo asked quietly, “his name?”  
  
“Don't tell him Sam,” Merry cautioned, “he's planning on doing something nasty to the fellow. He's already got Hob Hatfield on his list.”  
  
“Hob?” Sam asked, blinking.  
  
“I forgot to say,” Merry said, “he's the one who poisoned you the other day.”  
  
“Hob Hatfield did that?” Sam gasped.  
  
“Alright! We can chatter all afternoon,” Pippin said darkly, “but I have a feeling it isn't wise to waste time. And Frodo's right. The Gamgees might be in danger, stationed at Bag End the way they are. And the sooner we get back the sooner we can bring the Bounders to Frodo.”  
  
“Right,” Merry nodded, “so Frodo, are you insisting that I not be alone at Bag End?”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“Alright,” he turned to Sam and Pippin, “which of you wants to come with me?”  
  
“Me,” Pippin said quickly. “I'm wounded after all,” he added with a chuckle. Frodo sent Sam a look.  
  
“Are you alright with staying out here with me?” he asked. Sam nodded. “Well then, I suppose we know what we're doing.”  
  
“Oh. I only wish we did,” Merry sighed.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

“I don’t like it,” Pippin said. He and Merry were walking through the woods, leading the pony with them. Merry glanced back at him.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“All that about having two people at Bag End. He’s sending us away because he thinks he’ll be attacked and he doesn’t want us hurt.”  
  
"You volunteered to come back with me, Pip."  
  
"I did that because I thought if one of us was to stay out there, then they might like it better if it was Sam," he sniffed.  
  
"Thoughtful of you."  
  
"Not really. He’s only allowing Sam there because he knows we won’t stand for him being left alone and Sam in particular won’t stand to be kept away.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“So why did you go along with it?”  
  
“Because he’s not entirely wrong. These creatures seem much more willing to attack if we are alone.”  
  
“Maybe. But having two doesn't seem to stop them,” Pippin sighed, “Frodo and Sam that night after the pub, and me and Frodo in the woods.”  
  
“I know,” Merry groaned, “I don't like it at all. Splitting up makes me very uneasy. But I don't see a way around it.”  
  
“It's stupid. Protecting Bag End! I'd much rather protect Frodo! To hell with Bag End.”  
  
“There's things about that,” Merry said slowly, “that you don't know. Just trust me when I say that it's important that Bag End not be abandoned.”  
  
“As important as Frodo's life?”  
  
“Well. Maybe,” Merry said grimly. Pippin was silent a moment.  
  
“This is about Bilbo's treasure,” he said softly. Merry turned on him, eyes wide.  
  
“What are you on about?”  
  
“If it's so important, then why didn't we bring it to Frodo? Whatever it is?” he asked. Merry went quiet.  
  
“It's hidden right now. I think it's best to let it stay hidden,” Merry said, “and that's all I'm going to say about it.” He paused, “Besides, it might be for the best, Sam and Frodo having some time alone.” Pippin's scowl melted.  
  
“How’s that? Think they might confess their love?”  
  
“Ah. I doubt that,” Merry coughed, “Sam is... out of sorts with Frodo.”  
  
“What?” Pippin laughed, “no! What about?”  
  
“The will business,” Merry sighed, “he found out this morning all about it.”  
  
“And he was upset about it?”  
  
“Yes. Upset enough that he snapped at me.”  
  
“At you!”  
  
“Ah well, he had cause to be angry. He didn’t mean to take it out on me. There just wasn’t anyone else for him to be angry at.”  
  
“Still I can’t believe he snapped at you.”  
  
“Don’t think badly of him. We’re all afraid and none of us have had enough sleep lately. We must try and be gentle with one another.”  
  
“True,” Pippin murmured, “still if he snapped at you, I’d hate to be Frodo right now.”  
  
“They need to have a talk. Sooner the better.”  
  
“If they’re at odds then might that be dangerous?”  
  
“No. Even if Sam is furious at him he’s not going to let anything harm Frodo, nor will Frodo let anything happen to Sam. You know that.”  
  
“I suppose.”

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Sam settled in, finishing the unpacking of the bags. There was a great deal of food, bowls and cups, several blanket rolls, lanterns, flint, a small ax, and an almost laughably large supply of pipeweed along with a few spare pipes, pipe cleaners, and matches. Sam almost rolled his eyes. Merry had packed these bags, sure enough.  
  
They worked together in silence for a long while, until the afternoon light began to fade. Sam was happy keeping his thoughts to the unpacking. He felt the silence between himself and Frodo very keenly and he wasn't eager to break it. He wasn't sure what he'd say if he did.  
  
“Sam?” Frodo said, at last, his voice cautious. Sam blinked and turned to him, pausing in his work.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Merry said you had learned about my will. When Lotho tried to get Bag End,” Frodo said and there was and awkwardness in his expression that Sam had rarely seen. He closed up the bag.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said and waited. He was going to make Frodo speak his piece, whether he was nervous about it or no. Frodo met his eyes for a moment.  
  
“Merry says you felt ill used,” he said slowly. Sam frowned, “Why is that?” Sam held very still and tried to find his careful words. “Sam?” Frodo pressed.  
  
“I do wish you’d a said something sir,” Sam said at last, “not meaning to overstep.”  
  
“You understand why I didn’t don’t you?”  
  
“No sir. I can’t say I do.”  
  
“Well,” Frodo sounded flustered. Sam glanced up. “It’s better to keep these things quiet.” Sam took a breath. _Don't argue with him,_ he told himself, _don't say something you'll regret. It's not worth it Samwise. Da told me to let him speak the hard words. I can’t be angry. It’s not my place to be angry._  
  
“Yes sir,” he said. Frodo was staring at him.  
  
“I am sorry if you felt I was being secretive,” Frodo said slowly.  
  
“That's you're business,” he said trying to bury the anger and pain. But he’d never been good at hiding his feelings.  
  
“I suppose it is your business. At least, it is now,” Frodo said. “You know you'd have faced years of gossip if it had gotten out.”  
  
“Years of gossip?” Sam breathed.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo frowned, “you know Hobbiton. They'd have harassed you and your family for years had it become known that you were my heirs.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam made himself say. Frodo's excuse was so flimsy that even he could see through it. As if his family would have gone around bragging to the Farthing that they'd been made heirs to the Hill! Frodo’s eyes were on him.  
  
“Are you angry at me?” he asked. Sam closed his eyes and held himself still, hating that Frodo could read him so well.  
  
“No, sir,” Sam lied.  
  
“Sam,” Frodo breathed in exasperation, “if you are angry I should like to know.”  
  
“But then we’ll fight, sir,” Sam said, “and I ought not do that with you. I don't want to.”  
  
“Well I don’t either but it’s better to talk than bury things away. You’ll understand that someday.” Sam felt a flush of fresh anger at being talked down to.  
  
“Tisn't only a matter of not wanting to argue,” Sam quivered, “it's not my place to go being angry, and not my place to argue with you, sir. Dad said for me not to. He’ll be the one to talk to you,” Sam recited. Silence met his words and he glanced up to see Frodo looking hurt.  
  
“Is there a reason you can't talk to me about it?” he asked, “we've always been able to talk in the past, you and I.” Sam stared at him.  
  
“I daren’t,” he said quietly. Frodo's eyes widened and there was such a deep sorrow in his expression that Sam felt it like a blow.  
  
“Why?” Frodo asked, his voice barely audible.  
  
“Oh, sir,” Sam said, pained and had to gather himself before he could go on, “I’m afraid of what I might say.” Frodo’s gaze grew solemn.  
  
“I don’t have any right to ask this,” Frodo said slowly after a moment, “but would you trust me enough to speak your mind?” Sam considered this. It felt dangerous and it wasn't what his father had advised. His father would tell him to keep his mouth shut or only to say that the Gamgees would not accept such and leave it at that.

But despite all that, Sam didn’t want to put that distance between himself and Frodo. Frodo was asking for his honesty. What was between them was built on trust and honesty and Sam couldn’t bear to strike at those foundations. Even if it meant disobeying his father. Even if it meant risking that he might say something he’d regret. Even if it meant risking Frodo hating him. He took a breath and looked Frodo in the eyes.  
  
“Alright, sir,” he said.  
  
“You are angry with me,” Frodo said gently, “Are you upset because I didn't tell you?”  
  
“Some,” Sam admitted, “cause it was hard finding out the way I did. And if you had died or disappeared and that will was read out like that, then it would have been very hard, sir. Very hard.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“And I have to say I don’t like that you told me an untruth just now,” he said, “You weren't trying to protect my family from gossips. You knew we’d not go for it. that’s why you didn’t say.” Frodo’s expression cooled.  
  
“You think I'm a coward?” he asked quietly. Sam drew in a breath trying to make heart stop hammering. He hated this.  
  
“No. But I think you wanted to force this on me. I don’t care for that.”  
  
“I was trying to provide for you after I was gone,” Frodo murmured. Sam nodded.  
  
“Aye, gone. You wrote that will knowing you’d go off one day. That’s what it was really for. You were going to leave,” Sam said and heard the raw hurt in his voice, “maybe even leave without saying anything to me. Just like Mr. Bilbo,” he took a breath, “It’s not my place to expect you to tell me your business but I just thought you’d tell me something before disappearing forever. I just thought I’d a meant more to you than that.” Frodo looked stricken. “What really hit me the hardest was thinking of how you’d a forced me to take care of your old empty hole. Waiting for you to come back. Not knowing if you ever would. Not knowing if you were dead. That was the cruelest blow of all of it.”  
  
“We talked on this,” Frodo said gently, “I told you I was thinking of leaving. I said you could come with me.”  
  
“But that was just a few days ago. You went years planning to leave like that!” Sam cried, “I thought this idea to go off was just some fancy of yours you hadn't thought much on. But it wasn’t. You wrote a will and put it all down on paper. So you must have thought it out but you never gave me a thought.”  
  
“Never gave you a thought?” Frodo breathed, “I made you my heir!”  
  
“That’s a burden. I don’t want to be ungrateful, sir. But that’s what it is. And it’s not one I ever asked for.”  
  
“You might not want to be ungrateful, but it does seem that you are,” Frodo said tightly.  
  
“Sir,” Sam said, frustrated.  
  
“I didn’t think of it as a burden when Bilbo made me his heir.”  
  
“You're a gentlehobbit,” Sam said through his teeth, “and are you telling me you never got scared by it, even though Mr. Bilbo trained you for years? How do you think I'd a felt, having all that on me? And in no kind of position to bear it, or even have other hobbits respect me enough to give me half a chance at it?”  
  
“Merry would have helped you.”  
  
“Mr. Merry don’t know the business of Master of the Hill. And he’s busy and lives away in Buckland. What help he could spare wouldn’t be enough. And folks would just treat him like the master. It would put both of us in a bad place.”  
  
“You,” Frodo took a breath, “you could have sold it.” _Sell it?_ Sam thought appalled, _how could I sell it when it would be the only thing I’d have to remember you by?_ He almost said it but made himself stay quiet. _It’s not my place to say such,_ Sam told himself. “And you’d be cared for for the rest of your days,” Frodo continued, “I don’t see it entirely as a burden. Some people would be grateful.”  
  
“Then go give your smial to them,” Sam said, his voice barely audible. Frodo went very still, his cheeks flushed in anger. Sam only stared back. _You’ve done it now,_ a voice inside him whispered, but he was still too hot to listen to it. Frodo took a breath then sighed.  
  
“I wanted your family cared for,” Frodo said, keeping his voice quiet, unwilling to rise to the bait.  
  
“Beg your pardon but there’s other ways to do that,” Sam said. Frodo blinked, looking stung. They lapsed into silence that stretched uncomfortably. Sam had never felt such a churn of anger and unhappiness with Frodo. He bit his lip.  
  
“I need someone to give it to,” Frodo said forlornly.  
  
“You’ve family,” Sam said sternly. Frodo shook his head and stayed silent, deep sorrow growing in his expression. Sam felt like he’d been kicked and his anger drained.  
  
He'd over reacted, maybe. Let his anger get too hot. Frodo hadn't done anything from spite. It was innocence and a little carelessness. Frodo was like that sometimes. And he couldn’t believe Frodo had known how cruel a blow it would have been to him. Sam took a breath trying to find the words for an apology.  
  
“I'm sorry, Sam,” Frodo said, his voice defeated, “I'll do as you wish. It was wrong of me. And foolish. I really was trying to force my estate on your family. I’ve spent years trying to be Bilbo and I think I may have picked up some of his worst qualities. I thought I could ignore the way the world is and do what I wanted. But you’re right. It wouldn’t work, would it?” Sam hung his head, but sought Frodo's eyes.  
  
“I'm sorry, too,” he said quietly, “I could have found a way to tell you it hurt me without speaking so hard to you. I just haven’t the wit.” Silence built once more and while it wasn't warm, the tension between them had eased considerably.  
  
“You know,” Frodo said after a time, “I chose you and your family as my heirs because of what you all mean to me. Your father has looked after me since the time I came to the Hill. Your sisters have nursed me when I was sick and I can't begin to name all the ways in which I depend on you. That's why I did it. Please, at least know that.” Sam closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
“I think I knew that from the moment the Judge read it out,” he opened his eyes and cast a look at Frodo, “anyway, how could I not know, when I read what you wrote in your will.” Frodo’s eyes widened.  
  
“You read it?” He breathed. Sam nodded. “Oh,” Frodo said in a small voice. Silence grew again and it was warmer now. “I meant it, Sam. I really did.”  
  
“I know,” Sam murmured. “You’ve a kind heart. And it touched me, to read what you put down. And I do thank you for it. And for wanting to trust me with your home. It makes me feel... oh I don’t know. I haven’t the words for it.”  
  
“But it’s a good feeling?” Frodo asked cautiously. Sam nodded. “I’m glad for that.” He smiled.  
  
“Da thinks you done it to score off your Aunt Lobelia.”  
  
“I also did it to score off my Aunt Lobelia,” Frodo admitted. Sam felt the ghost of a chuckle escape him.  
  
“Da was mad you didn't say nothing. And that you lied to him when he brought the will to you.” Frodo groaned. “And I was mad about that, too,” Sam admitted.  
  
“I am sorry about that,” Frodo said, “I knew it was wrong. I just couldn't see any other way of doing it.” Sam gazed at him.  
  
“You could have told me,” he said quietly. Frodo met his eyes.  
  
“Yes. And I should have told you,” he said. Sam nodded and peered at Frodo.  
  
“Would you really a gone off without a word?” he asked quietly.  
  
“I don't know,” Frodo said. “But if I had done, it would have been one of the worst mistakes of my life. If I had realized how much it would pain you, I’d not have done it. I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”  
  
“You really thought I’d not care much if you just went away?” Sam asked sadly.  
  
“I suppose I thought you might miss me for a time. But running the estate would keep you busy. Honestly, I tried not to think about it much. Until recently, I didn’t make a habit of examining those kinds of things too closely. Most especially how much you mean to me and I to you.”  
  
“Why wouldn't you want to know that?” Sam frowned. Frodo laughed breathlessly.  
  
“I don't know. It was the way I was raised? I was afraid of what I'd find?”  
  
“I don't understand.”  
  
“I'm not sure I do either,” Frodo sighed. Sam blinked.  
  
“You know Da isn't going to let you keep your will as it is, begging your pardon.”  
  
“I thought as much,” Frodo groaned.  
  
“He said it isn't right.”  
  
“Just because you were born as working hobbits?”  
  
“That,” Sam said slowly, “and Da said it isn't right cause we're not of your blood. He said a lad as young as you would have a wife and babes before long and so writing such a will was a waste.”  
  
“Sam,” Frodo said slowly. Sam looked up and was disturbed to see the color drained from Frodo's cheeks. His mouth opened slightly, but he hesitated, words caught in his throat. Concern flared in Sam.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he asked gently. Frodo fidgeted and Sam’s eye was drawn down to his hands. There was a slight tremble there, until he clasped them together, trying to hide it. Sam’s distress deepened and he lifted his gaze to Frodo’s face, wanting to reassure him, but something told him to keep quiet. Frodo took a breath and sat up a little, meeting Sam’s eyes. There was resolve in his face.  
  
“I won't have children. Nor marry,” he said quietly. He waited, as if he were expecting Sam to question him, but Sam only gazed back and nodded.  
  
“I know,” he said. Frodo froze, obviously taken aback by this.  
  
“And how do you know that?” he asked carefully.  
  
“Because you like lads,” Sam said. Frodo stared at him in amazement.  
  
“What?” he said weakly.  
  
“Don't you?” Sam asked, his nerves creeping in. They'd been at such an odd junction, and stripped away so much of the usual reticence between them in favor of deeper honesty that he'd let himself speak too freely. All the color rushed back into Frodo's face, his cheeks darkening and his ears going red. He dropped his gaze to the floor, mouth open, trying to speak. “Sir? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Never mind it.”  
  
“You haven't upset me,” Frodo said shakily and looked up once more. Sam felt a stab of concern. Oh dear. He'd really done it now. It wasn't his business after all. “How long have you known?” Frodo asked. Sam blinked at this, frowning.  
  
“I don't know. Ages,” he said.  
  
“How?”  
  
“Well,” Sam said slowly, “I've never seen you take any interest in a lass. But I guess when I knew for sure,” he paused thinking, “it was years ago - I was 'prentice gardener, so at least that long ago – I was at the Dragon one night and you were there sitting up at the bar. And there was this flash fellow, some Bolger or Grubb maybe, from Michel Delving, and when he spoke to you, you got flustered. And he was being friendly and at one point put his arm on your shoulder and you went giddy. Like some other lad might get flustered and giddy should a pretty lass take his hand or some such. I thought you must be one who goes for lads, even though I wasn't sure gentry knew of such things.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Frodo said faintly, “I had no idea I was so transparent. Does the whole village know?”  
  
“Nay, sir,” Sam said gently, “I'm sure I'm the only one who took notice of it. And I only did cause I know you so well and I'd never seen you act like that.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo sighed. He paused a moment and then gave Sam a rueful look. “I'm afraid I've been very silly.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“When I was a tween I agonized over telling you,” Frodo sighed, “I was very uncertain of myself and I wanted someone to talk to. But I never could bring myself to tell you.”  
  
“Why not?” Sam asked. Frodo gave him a look. Sam blinked, “you thought I would be harsh to you?” he asked, unhappily. Frodo nodded.  
  
“Though I realized later that you'd probably not do that to me.”  
  
“Probably?” Sam sounded pained.  
  
“There's good people, people who I like and trust, who have said things, made jokes or the like. They don't mean to hurt me. They don't know. But I learned early on to be wary and I'm afraid it made me very unwilling to trust anyone.” He fidgeted, gazing into the fire. “I was very foolish not to trust you, though. I see that now. And to think, you knew all this time and you've still always been so kind and good to me.” A pain struck deep into Sam and he gasped.  
  
“Of course I have!” he said, appalled and indignant, “You say that like you think you don’t deserve such kindness.” Frodo turn back to look at him.  
  
“I...” he tried to say something, but it seemed that Sam had left him speechless.  
  
“You deserve every kindness,” Sam said firmly, “just cause some hobbits don't see that don't mean it ain't so. Please don't be thinking that.” Frodo smiled at him and Sam reached out for his hand. Frodo’s gaze fell to their clasped hands.  
  
“I wish I had talked to you and to Bilbo,” he murmured.  
  
“We’d have been there for you, sir. Don’t doubt it.”  
  
“I don’t,” Frodo breathed, “but you know, I think back then I wasn’t in a place where I would have been able to accept such help. I think that’s part of why I didn’t speak on it.” Sam gazed into his face. He didn’t understand Frodo’s words, but it pained him all the same. Frodo lifted his gaze and met Sam’s eyes. “Thank you, Sam. For everything,” he said quietly.  
  
“Bless you,” Sam said and rubbed Frodo’s hand.  
  
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Frodo asked quietly. Sam glanced at him.  
  
“Tis your private business. I'd not talk on your private business,” he said, drawing his hand away as shyness settled over him.  
  
“Not even with me?”  
  
“It wasn't my place.”  
  
“I suppose,” Frodo sighed, “but you spoke on it now.”  
  
“Oh well,” Sam murmured uncomfortably, “we're not exactly sitting in the garden nor in your kitchen are we?”  
  
“That makes a difference?”  
  
“Seems it does to me, somehow,” Sam said quietly, “after all we've been through this past week. And out here in a run down hole, just got done arguing at each other and saying what we mean, while we hide from half of Hobbiton. Never mind the creatures and the Big Person.” Frodo laughed.  
  
“I suppose all of that might make a difference.”  
  
“Do you mind it, sir? The difference I mean.”  
  
“No,” Frodo said quietly, “do you?”  
  
“No,” Sam said. He added, “I suppose this difference, that’s why you were going to tell me? You said you’d always been scared to before.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said slowly, “I asked you to trust me, and tell me what you felt. You took a risk trusting in me. I thought it was time I did the same.” He paused, “As you said, we’ve never had a conversation like this before. I thought, if I don’t tell you now, then maybe I never would. And I've wanted to be honest with you. I've been feeling more and more that I should. Even if I had to take a risk by doing so.”  
  
“Risk that I’d not want to be friendly with you anymore if I knew?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“Well, I'm glad you said something,” Sam murmured, “I wish you'd a never had to fear such.” He looked up, “you never had to fear such with me, sir.” Frodo's expression softened.  
  
“I know that now. And I am so grateful,” he said. He went on more cautiously, “I’ve been unfair to you, in more ways than one. And I’m sorry for it. Knowing all you do now, and with this difference between us, I need to ask, does this mean you’ll still come with me, should I decide to leave the Shire?”  
  
“Of course I’ll still go with you,” Sam murmured. Tension melted out of Frodo’s expression, and Sam felt joy at seeing it. He smiled, adding, “I made a pledge to you,” he ducked his head, feeling shy, “it was while you slept and I didn’t say it out loud,” he chuckled then glanced up, “but I made it all the same. And nothing that’s passed between us has changed any of it. Nothing will, you know. I’m stubborn, see.” Frodo favored him with a smile.  
  
“What did you pledge, Sam?” he asked. Sam took a steadying breath, his heart picking up.  
  
“That I love you. That I’ll stay with you. No matter where you go. As long as you want me or need me.” Frodo’s eyes widened and his mouth opened but he didn’t speak. Instead, he closed his mouth and took a few short breaths, struggling to keep his composure. He gave it up after a moment and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, looking into his face with such emotion in his eyes that Sam had to catch his own breath. With trembling hands, Sam covered Frodo’s hand in his own and drew it up to cradle it against his cheek, keeping his eyes locked on Frodo’s. Gingerly, he turned his face and pressed a kiss to Frodo’s palm. Frodo drew in a quick breath and Sam turned back to see Frodo was watching him, his cheeks reddened, and his breath coming quicker. They stared at one another.  
  
“Sam,” Frodo whispered.  
  
A soft wailing cry came echoing from the woods and they both froze, turning behind them to stare at the door. Frodo gasped, pulled his hand from Sam’s clasp, and staggered up.  
  
“Merry!” he cried and grasped the lantern. Sam stared, then drew himself up, confused. The cry hadn't sounded as if it had come from a hobbit, much less Merry.  
  
“Weapons Sam! Did you bring any weapons?” Frodo demanded, his voice frantic.  
  
“No, we didn't-”  
  
“Never mind, this will work,” Frodo said and grasped the belt holster with Pippin's little dagger and tried it around himself.  
  
“Sir!” Sam said, feeling very lost, “Can't be Mr. Merry. He's at Bag End,” he said, "even if the Bounders came, he'd not lead them out here past dark!"  
  
“No, he must have come back for some reason,” Frodo said and another louder wail sounded, making the hairs on Sam's neck rise.  
  
That had not been a hobbit.  
  
Frodo bolted to the door, swinging it open.  
  
“I hear you! I’m coming!” he called.  
  
“Sir! No!” Sam gasped and put his hand on Frodo’s arm. “It’s not Mr. Merry. You can’t go out there.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Frodo said, his eyes wild, “he’s hurt! You heard him.”  
  
“I heard no such thing!” Sam told him, “all I heard was a cry on the wind.” Frodo turned away. “Sir!”  
  
“They’re chasing him!” Frodo gasped and stepped out into the darkness. “Come toward my voice Merry! I’ll find you!” Frodo cried out as he made to go into the trees.  
  
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam caught him again, this time gripping his arm tight. “You must come back! That's not Mr. Merry out there!” Sam insisted, “It's got you hoodwinked!” Frodo ignored him and Sam felt a stab of pain. “Sir, come back inside!” Sam pleaded, but it was like Frodo couldn’t hear him. _It’s got hold on him,_ Sam realized, _just like in Bag End. But I can’t shake him from it!_ Desperation gripped Sam. “Hey now!” he cried and tried to draw Frodo back, “Look at your Sam!” But Frodo instead pulled away wrenching his arm from Sam’s grasp. There was another cry on the wind and Frodo turned to the trees.  
  
“I hear you Merry-lad! I'll find you!” he called, his voice increasingly panic stricken. “I swear it!”  
_He’s lost in some spell,_ Sam told himself, _and it’s driving him out of his head with worry so I can’t get through to him and he can’t see the danger he’s in. If that’s so, then it’s my job to stop him._ Sam set his jaw and grabbed Frodo roughly locking his arms around him, dragging him back. “Samwise Gamgee let go of me!” Frodo shouted.  
  
“No,” Sam said and tightened his grip.  
  
In the next moment, Sam felt his legs knocked out from under him and he yelped as he fell. He hit the ground hard, landing on his behind. As his arms were still locked around Frodo, Frodo fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. Stunned and in pain, it was easy for Frodo to break Sam’s grip on him. In an instant he was up.  
  
“Merry! Hold on! I’m coming!” Frodo shouted, his voice on the verge of breaking from panic and fear.  
  
“No!” Sam wheezed and scrambled up after him, his backside aching from the hard landing. “Mr. Frodo! Come back! It’s not Mr. Merry! Please listen!” But there was no reply. He caught one last glimpse of Frodo as he disappeared into the darkness without looking back.  
  
Sam caught his breath, his heart hammering, chilled to his core.  
  
“No,” he whispered slowly to himself, “No, Frodo Baggins, no you don't!” He darted back into the hole, plucking the other lantern from the floor and lit it with an ember from the fire.  
  
He didn't know what he was about to go and face, but knew it was beyond his ken. There were tales about creatures who could draw someone from the safety of their hole into the dark night, chasing what they thought was a loved one's voice. Sam shivered. In the tales, those hobbits never came back.  
  
“But not my Mr. Frodo,” Sam growled. He took up a thick stick they'd been using to stir the fire and set out into the night. He walked under the trees and gazed around him, listening for any sign. It was cold and misty now, with fog rising from the creek, and no nightly noises, only dead silence. Every instinct Sam had screamed at him to turn and go back in, but the gardener pushed his legs into motion and went in deeper among the trees. He could hear Frodo, calling out faintly.  
  
“Sir!” He called.  
  
As he walked, Sam turned wildly from side to side shining his lantern into the darkness to no avail.  
  
“Mr. Frodo, sir?” he called but his voice was failing, fear and instinct making him quiet. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to stop his chin from quivering.  
  
_It's taken him,_ a voice inside him whispered, _you've failed him and the magic has taken him away._ But Sam squared his shoulders and stepped forward, trying to listen for a sound. He wouldn't let himself believe it, not yet. Frodo wasn't far ahead.  
  
As Sam walked carefully through the damp earth, he began to notice wisps of fog curling around his knees. He frowned and stared at the mists, suddenly thick around him, bouncing the light from his lantern back at him, obscuring what little view he had. Sam closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly, feeling lost.  
  
“Go back? No… That would do no good at all,” he muttered to himself and realized he was nearly quoting Bilbo, when the old master had been lost in the goblin cave. Sam smiled, encouraged by that thought and continued murmuring to himself, “Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? The only thing to do! On we go!” and he plunged deeper into the dark night. “Nay, creature, you'll not take him,” he said softly, “He's a Baggins and you don't know what you’re doing tangling with a Baggins,” he said through clenched teeth, “nor a Gamgee!”


	16. Cries in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is kind of a good chapter for Halloween. Hope everyone does something fun. And thanks for reading guys.

Frodo rushed into the bracken, not heeding the sharp branches that clung to his clothes, moving in the direction he thought he could hear movement and Merry's faint voice on the wind. He sunk into a patch of soft earth and felt a twinge of pain from his ankle. He cursed under his breath and went on, stumbling blindly in the darkness, unaware of thick mist curling up behind him.  
  
“Merry!” He shouted and heard his voice high and frightened. He gave a shiver and pushed on. _Merry must have come back, maybe something attacked him and Pippin, maybe Pippin was... Maybe Merry was stuck in this bog, he could be caught and then they would have him...._ Frodo gave a little cry as he stumbled, his lantern jerking wildly in his hand.  
  
“Merry,” Frodo murmured, “I'm coming. Hold on for me.”  
  
Frodo finally slowed as he stumbled into a clearing where pale moonlight shone down through the trees. He stopped and stood still, surprised to find himself panting. He hadn't heard Merry call for him for some time and he didn't know how to take that, only that he was too frightened to think clearly.  
  
“I've just moved away from him, that's why I can't hear him. I only need to retrace my steps,” Frodo said to himself, trying to convince his panic to ebb. “Come on, you won't do him any good if you stumble about this bog all night,” he paused and glanced up, “The stars will tell me my directions. I only need to head south. He would be coming from the south...”  
  
But before Frodo could decide his path, there was a crackling in the brush behind him. Frodo felt his body stiffen and slowly he turned his head. What he saw froze him.  
  
A dark figure stood only a few paces away, watching him with luminous cold eyes, eyes that shone so brightly that Frodo felt disoriented, as if the orbs ought to be into sky. It shuffled closer and he let out a cry of fear, and though he desperately wanted to run, Frodo found his will to move had dried up. He could hear the creature breathing, and he was overcome suddenly with the stench of decay.  
  
“Poor traveler, you seek your kinsman on this dark night?” it spoke and its voice was cold. Frodo's mind whirred in panic and anger.  
  
“Have you seen him?” Frodo asked weakly, “Do you have him?”  
  
“I have claimed many,” the creature rattled as it breathed and drifted closer, arms extending from the folds of darkness. Frodo found his eyes drawn to the arms; bony and pale in the star light. “They sing their despair in my chamber, choirs of souls that I have claimed and tamed.” Frodo shivered, but he was caught, mesmerized by this horror.  
  
“Return him,” he whispered the plea and the phantom laughed.  
  
“I will dress him in raiment finer that he has ever known and lay him over gold of ages untold.” The arms shot out and latched onto Frodo's shoulders, iron tight and painful. Frodo let out a weak cry but his mind felt foggy and his limbs were too heavy and cold to move. He tried to focus on breathing, but even that was becoming a labor. The chill deepened inside him to the point that Frodo was only aware of his heart pounding in panic. Strange thoughts began to run through his mind, snatches of words joining up into forgotten languages.  
  
“Come and I will show him to you, your precious kinsman,” the creature said and Frodo bowed his head, unable to resist or even answer. Darkness swam before his eyes and dead cold engulfed him, extinguishing his consciousness.

<>O<>O<>O<>     

Sam moved through the woods, squelching in the thick mud, giving up his hobbit stealth for speed. He waved the small lantern ahead of him. His instincts told him he was not alone in these woods; that something terrible waited for him in the dark mists, but Sam was becoming aware of a strange resoluteness he had never felt before. He suddenly felt that it didn’t matter what manner of beast might be in the woods, he would do what was needed, whatever that might be.  
  
The thick mist parted a little and Sam caught a glint of light ahead. He blinked in confusion until the mist fell away and he saw that a party stood in the moonlit glad in front of him. Sam stopped dead. They turned at his appearance and stared at him.  
  
_Elves!_ Sam thought wonder filling his heart so that all the fear and urgency left him. _Elves! Elves!_ He was more excited than he'd ever been in his life. They were everything he'd ever thought they could be and more. Achingly beautiful silvered faces, with eyes that sparkled in the starlight. He stepped toward them, then stopped himself. He didn't have a right to approach these people. Not common Sam Gamgee. And he had something to do, didn't he?  
  
One of the elves stepped among the trees and beckoned him. Sam felt his heart leap. _Maybe they're as curious about me as I am about them?_ He thought, faintly. He stepped forward, deeply enchanted by the party. He shook himself. There really was something he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. He shook his head like a dog with water in its ears.  
  
_Frodo_ , he managed the singular thought and it burned within his heart, bringing him to a halt. He blinked, trying to remember what was it about Frodo that was so important. His thoughts were scattered by the silver lights and beauty all around him and Sam cursed that he was so slow and stupid.  
  
_Frodo is in danger._ Sam gasped and tried to jolt himself into action, but he couldn't move now. The magic was too deep all around him and he was overwhelmed by it. Lights danced around him, sending stars across his vision. This was all too much for just a plain hobbit like him. He struggled against it, none the less. He needed to find Frodo!  
  
_Sam Gamgee you daft squash! These people can help find him!_  he thought, but it felt like a thought pressed on him and that only sent him deeper into confusion. _If, if they are to help me, then I need to say something. Ask them,_ he realized.  
  
The Elf woman was drawing nearer now and Sam looked up into her face. She was all starlight and softness, her golden hair braided with jewels and silver leaf ornaments curling over her delicate brow. Sam found himself tracing the veins in the leaves though they were rendered in metal. His gaze moved down to her face and she smiled at him, like he was an old friend. Her eyes were a burning blue that shone bright enough to stamp themselves into his vision. She bent and reached a hand out, about to touch his cheek. Sam's heart pounded. He needed to do something and stop just standing there like a pillock!  
  
“ _Elen sila lumenn omentielvo_ ,” he said. It was a phrase that Frodo had taught him years ago as they sat in the parlor, Bilbo's volumes open on the floor around them. A star shines on the hour of our meeting. “So if you meet an elf in the woods, you can say something to him,” Frodo had giggled, “instead of just gaping at him!” Sam had laughed along with him and tried to get his tongue around the strange words all afternoon, but he'd finally learned it. All these years later, the phrase had never left him.  
  
But perhaps he'd misremembered it after all, he noted with unhappiness. The woman jerked her hand back, recoiling at his words. Sam blinked and tried again, “ _Elen sila lumenn omentielvo_ ,” he said, slowly and clearly. She stepped away, and there was disgust in all of their faces.  
  
_Ninnyhammer! You’ve offended them! Best keep quiet like you ought to a done in the first place. You’re too stupid to talk elf words,_ he thought. But the thought came with the same hardness that felt as if it were pushing down on him. Sam resisted it, but even as he made a feeble attempt to argue, another thought came over him. _Mr. Frodo was wicked and taught you something naughty in elvish. That’s why they’re so angry. He’d laugh so if he saw you now._ This felt worse, like a knife cutting into him, and he cowered for a moment. But no, Frodo wouldn’t do that to him, he realized. _He loves me,_ Sam thought, _he’d not make a fool of me. And he’d not laugh at me_.  
  
“ _Elen sila lumenn omentielvo_ ,” he cried once more, his heart full of trust in Frodo. The Elves stepped away, displeasure in their faces. Sam didn't care. If they weren't the kind of Elves who could appreciate Frodo's beautiful greeting, then he didn't want anything to do with them.  
  
A shadow fell across the glad and everything stilled and went silent. With the sudden silence, Sam realized his ears had been full of some song, though he hadn't remembered noticing it starting up. His head was clearer now, and he stared at the Elves, squinting. They didn't look quite right. Like shadows, flat and formless. The woman standing closest to Sam moved and when Sam turned to look on her, he saw a flash of what she really was. Lanky and thin, her flesh was drawn up over bony cheeks, revealing sharp teeth and a black mouth. Her eyes fixed on him, cold and predatory, hunger etched within their haunted depths.  
  
Sam cried out and stumbled back, even as he saw the elf forms come back into focus. He turned and fled, his body moving with the speed that only a truly desperate hobbit could ever hope to achieve. There was a shriek behind him and he cried out in terror once more, only hastening his flight.  
  
He ran on into the woods. _Those creatures weren't looking for me,_ _they're out here cause of Frodo,_ he thought and felt panic squeeze his heart, _I have to find him before they do!_ But he didn't know if he was going in the right direction at all. He hadn't heard Frodo in some time.  
  
Sam pushed aside his doubts as he caught sight of a clearing and made for it. It was a landmark and would give him a little easier path, and if Frodo was near maybe he could get sight of him. But he hesitated when he drew near the treeline, feeling suddenly exposed. He stood very still and listened to the quiet night air. It was silent, eerily silent, in a way that no wood in the Shire should have been. Sam frowned and was about to step forward when from the corner of his eye he spied a dark shape, only for a moment in the brush, and Sam sucked in a breath. His body wanted to freeze in place or slip into the shadows, silent and small, the way that hobbits could, but he held a lantern, and there was no hiding that now. Sam stilled and made himself breathe.  
  
_I've got fire in the lantern and creatures don't like fire, and I can't out run it so stay still Sam Gamgee_ , he told himself sternly. There was another sound closer in the underbrush and Sam inched closer to the shadow of the trees but froze when a dark shape emerged, very close on his right side. Sam gasped and tried not to make a sound.  
  
It was a wolf, big and black, cloaked in mists with burning eyes and it was staring at him. It bared its teeth and Sam made an involuntary yip of fear and stepped back. The wolf growled low moved forward, stalking him, head low. As it moved closer, circling him, Sam stood, his mind wiped blank in panic. The wolf stopped, watching him, then without a sound leapt.  
  
“Back!” Sam shouted and raised his lantern at the creature, trying to frighten it away but the lantern was knocked from his hand and the wolf’s head smacked into the gardener, sending him sprawling to the ground. The lantern hit the wet earth and with a hiss went out. _Get up! Get up!_ He told himself frantically and rose on shaky legs to see the wolf standing again, watching him. _What is it doing?_   Sam wondered, then sucked in a breath. _Oh. It needs me to run,_   _that’s how they attack. It’s trying to frighten me into bolting._ The wolf lowered its head and stalked forward again, making Sam back away, moving farther into the open clearing. _No. It’s herding me,_ Sam realized with a jolt, and looked around fearfully. He was several yards into the clearing now and he realized with a sinking heart that he had missed his opportunity to climb a tree, the way Bilbo had on his adventure when he had been stalked by wolves.  
  
“Hell and damn,” Sam swore quietly and raised his stick, which he had had the good sense not to drop. But as he did Sam noticed the air around him had gone chill and the mist was gathering thicker around him. He could hear the wolf growling but had lost sight of it. He tried to breathe normally, but the sensation of stepping into a cold spot and trying to keep track of the wolf in the mists was terrifying to him.  
  
Sam was shaking; he was beginning to realize that a gardener alone at night with a stick was no match for things from the Wild. He was no luck-wearer and not a clever Baggins, and there would be no wizard rescue for him.  
  
“And what has the Warg brought us?” Came a rattling voice. Sam caught his breath and turned. Two gaunt figures rose out of the darkness and peered at him. Their stench hit him and Sam began to tremble. The things that had followed him in the lane!  
  
“It's the other one,” the second creature hissed.  
  
“Is it?” the first growled and turned to peer behind it. Sam blinked and shifted his gaze behind the creatures. At the far end of the little clearing he could just see a third creatures bent over a shape in the mud.  
  
It was Frodo, Sam could see that even in the near darkness. He let out a cry and bolted foreword, slipping past the grasping hands of the creatures that thought they had corned him. Sam shot across the clearing and reared back striking the creature bent over Frodo hard with his thick stick, aiming the blow to fall on its head. It made a loud thump and there was a sickening tearing sound along with a shriek, but the creature only turned to him, fury in its large moonlike eyes and got up, despite half its head being caved in. Sam whimpered at the sight and stepped back.  
  
“If you’ve a hurt him you’ll be sorry,” Sam said through chattering teeth. “You’ll all of you get a lesson from Sam Gamgee!” And he brought his stick up again.  
  
“Stupid little thing,” the wight spat and grabbed Sam’s stick. “you would come between the Angmar-draugar and its prey? Come here little one, and I will show you what we do to morsels like you.” Sam kicked it hard in the shins and it stumbled, hissing at him. Two more wights emerged from the darkness and Sam had barely turned before one grasped him by the collar and knocked him to the ground. They threw his stick away and stood over him.  
  
“Can we make a feast of this one?”  
  
“Yes. He’s just a spare. We’ve got our prize.” One of them bent and latched it's cold hands around his throat. Sam fought, prying it's hand away in desperation.  
  
“Frodo!” he called out, but then it's hands were back, closing his throat. Sam tried to rally one last effort of defiance but it was snuffed out as the icy flesh of the creature touched his own, and a haze seemed to rise before his eyes. Sam stared at the foul thing and saw his death in its cold dead eyes.  
  
_Oh Frodo, I’m so sorry,_ he thought, _your Sam wasn’t made for this._ And then something vital and warm flicked out of him and Sam crumpled, defeated and lost.

<>O<>O<>O<>     

Frodo opened his eyes, feeling his limbs come back to life. He’d heard his name, he thought, though it felt like a dream. He gasped in air and sat up, every instinct telling him to run. But a sound caught his attention and he turned to see the phantom, joined now by it's fellow. Their backs were to him and they were hunched over something, like dogs on a kill. Frodo stared, feeling horrified as he watched them mill and jerk around whatever it was they were feeding on. He tugged at his bound wrists and worked the bonds and slipped a hand free. A slip of lightness caught his eye and he saw beneath them, the sleeve of a homespun shirt and a small hand limp in the mud. Frodo stood, his heart blazing.  
  
Bilbo said that during his adventure he had found the courage and wit to do things he would have thought unimaginable before he left the Shire, but Frodo felt neither brave nor clever; in fact he didn’t feel much of anything. There wasn't time or even space in his mind for those things. Only an incessant need to defend what was dear to him.  
  
In an instant, his dagger was out and he rushed at the phantoms, stabbing with his little blade into their wet sloughing bodies. There were shrieks of surprise and fear, but Frodo paid them no heed. He was at the center of their circle now, standing over Sam, his eyes fixed on the creatures. They stood now at a respectful distance, but their eyes glittered in the cold light. Frodo turned, moving to keep them in his sight, for the ones behind him began to creep back in.  
  
“Come close and I will slay you,” Frodo spat at them, “I will slay all of you foul things for touching him!” A crackling sound echoed around him and Frodo realized they were laughing at him.  
  
“Put your little knife down. You are defending a corpse,” one of the creature sneered at him. Frodo held himself still, his entire body alight and ready to battle to the end. One of the creatures moved in, slipping down to feed at Sam again and Frodo's heart flamed within him. He let out a wordless cry of rage and stabbed his spike down into the thing's head, breaking through its soft skull. It howled and locked a clawing hand around Frodo's ankle and yanked him down into the mud, it's gaping mouth open, it's murderous eyes set on him.  
  
“We don't kill that one,” came a harsh growl. The grip around his ankle did not slacken, but the creature stilled, it's mouth of broken teeth closing. Frodo writhed in its grip and tried to reach down to stab it, but another creature wrenched him up and pinned his hand. They took the dagger from him and held him, down in the mud, snarling over him. Frodo gasped in pain. Wherever their rotten flesh touched him it burned like ice, but fouler, so that it leached poison into his skin and a numbness came over him. His shoulder was pinned against Sam and Frodo tried to twist to let himself look on Sam once more. These creatures were drowning out his consciousness and then they would have him for their foul purposes. He would never see Sam again, and he ached to look upon his face. Just once more. But even that small mercy was denied to him.  
  
“Sam,” he whispered. Too weak now, he sank down and his face turned up to the stars. He could feel Sam's side against his shoulder. Like they were laying on Bag End's roof, gazing at the night sky together. A half memory came to him then and he could hear his own voice, quiet as he spoke.  
  
“I'll tell you their stories if you want.”  
  
“The stars? They all of them have stories?”  
  
“Well! I suppose they must. I'm sorry to say that I don't know all of them. But I will tell you the ones I know.”  
  
“I'd like that,” came the shy response and soft brown eyes cast up at the fathomless sky had lowered to meet his own.  
  
Darkness crawled into the edges of Frodo's vision and he blinked, wild and desperate.  
  
_Let me have one more moment with him. Let peace find him. Even if I cannot protect him anymore._  
  
_Just one more moment._  
  
Though his eyes stayed open, gazing sightlessly up at the stars, his mind dimmed and awareness was snuffed out, so that he did not feel it when Sam was tugged from his side.

<>O<>O<>O<>     

Pippin wandered the halls of Bag End, studying each creak and each night noise. After a time he gave up his patrol. He found Merry in the parlor and went to sit beside him.  
  
“Hear anything?” Merry asked, “spot any mist?”  
  
“No,” Pippin said.  
  
“It's very quiet out there,” Merry said darkly. Pippin sighed. They met one another’s eyes but stayed silent.  
  
“Those Bounders never came,” Pippin said after a time. Merry shook his head.  
  
“Three days was a little optimistic I think. Some of the Bounders are very far out. And the Watchers even more so, I would think.”  
  
“Yes, but,” Pippin murmured.  
  
“Perhaps they'll be along tomorrow,” Merry said quietly, “don't go fretting about it. It doesn't help.” He blinked at Pippin, sitting up a little. “Take a rest, Pip. You look very tired. And I’m sure you didn’t get much rest in that chilly hole in the woods.”  
  
“No. I did alright,” Pippin said, “and what of you? At best you’ve had half a nights rest, but I very much suspect you’ve had no rest at all. Not if you stayed up to check on Sam, as he said you did.”  
  
“Well I’m not going to sleep. I don’t think I can.”  
  
“Merry, you ass,” Pippin snorted, “you’ll ruin yourself if you keep this up.” Merry only shook his head. “Frodo is going to be alright. You said yourself that Sam will guard him, and he’ll guard Sam, so there’s nothing to fear.”  
  
“Nothing to fear is it?” Merry said quietly, “I don't know about that.”   
  
“At least Frodo doesn't seem bothered by it all. He's so remarkably calm about everything.”  
  
“He is more afraid then he lets on,” Merry said. Pippin went silent and still.  
  
“I suppose I knew that,” he said.  
  
“And it's getting worse on him,” Merry went on, “he thinks that he must leave us all. Now more than ever.”  
  
“Did he say that?”  
  
“Not in so many words. But he mused a bit of it aloud to me. Asked what he should do and where he should go if worse comes.”  
  
“If he said that to you, he must know you'd say Buckland,” Pippin paused, “but I suppose he thinks he must go farther?”  
  
“Yes. I suggested Bree, then. He made a joke about it, but I think in his mind even Bree may not be far enough.”  
  
“Did he say where he was thinking?”  
  
“No. I don't think he knows.”  
  
“Do you think he suspects that all this trouble is coming on him because of Bilbo's treasure?” Pippin asked. Merry sent him a warning look, “we're alone here, Merry. Don't you think it safe at Bag End?” Merry took a breath.  
  
“If anywhere is, then perhaps. But ever since Sam told me of Gandalf's warning to his father I have gotten more and more afraid. Yes. If these creatures are targeting Frodo, then I think it must have to do with that old trinket. It's the only thing from the Outside of any value that Bilbo left behind.”  
  
“It's a trinket is it?”  
  
“Let's not talk on it anymore,” Merry said quietly, “I feel afraid somehow.”  
  
“If we've made the connection, then Frodo must have as well,” Pippin said quietly.  
  
“I would think so, in the normal course of things,” Merry said slowly.  
  
“Oh? You think he hasn't?”  
  
“Well. I can't say for sure. He is very close. And as much as we like to poke fun at him for being a terrible keeper of secrets, he can occasionally surprise you.”  
  
“But you think he hasn't made the connection,” Pippin pressed.  
  
“No,” Merry said quietly, “I think he's been occupied with other things.” Pippin blinked.  
  
“Oh! Sam?” he asked. Merry nodded.  
  
“Which, actually, I think is a rather good thing. There is some mischief in all this, and if Frodo realized what was drawing all these dangers to him, I wonder if he wouldn't take it and run off. At least at present, he is mystified by these attacks, I think.”  
  
“But then, it seems like we should tell him.”  
  
“Again, I am only making a guess.”  
  
“But it's a good guess,” Pippin pressed, “we made this Conspiracy to protect him. Not keep secrets back when that might put him in danger.” Merry stared at him, a blaze of hurt and unhappiness in his eyes. “Oh! I'm sorry. I'm talking nonsense. Please forget what I said.”  
  
“We don't know what is stalking him or who is after him. If we tell him some half guess then we give up our Conspiracy and all the good that it can do for him, and if he does run off by himself then he'll be alone out there. We may only frighten him into the hands of dreadful creatures.” Merry sighed. “And they’ll have Frodo and their prize.”  
  
“Merry, I'm sorry,” Pippin said.  
  
“I'm not upset with you. And it is good to have you question what we do,” Merry said wearily, “It is all so deadly serious and it frightens me,” he paused, “I would take all his danger on myself if I could. All I want now is to protect him.” Pippin nodded.  
  
“He's been so good to us,” he said quietly, “I've been thinking, if he does want to go off, even out into the Wild, then I think I want to go with him.” Merry sent him an amazed look.  
  
“You're too young for that.”  
  
“I am not. I tramp all around the Shire. And I've faced creatures now. You can't say I don't know a bit of what I'm in for.”  
  
“I didn't ask you into this Conspiracy expecting you'd leave with us.”  
  
“Ah ha!” Pippin crowed, “you mean to leave with him too!”  
  
“Yes. Well. I though I'd made that plain. I told you, I want to protect him. Or rather, give him whatever help I can. It's not in my power to protect him, even here in the Shire.”  
  
“It's the same for me,” Pippin insisted.  
  
“But your parents would never allow it,” Merry said.  
  
“Oh, they expect me to have a few adventures,” Pippin said carelessly.  
  
“Adventures in the East Farthing and Buckland maybe,” Merry snorted. Pippin shrugged.  
  
“And you are telling your parents, future Master of the Hall?”  
  
“Well. No,” Merry said sheepishly. He sighed, “alright. I'll think on it.”  
  
“I don't see why you should. I've made up my mind,” Pippin said.  
  
“Pippin-”  
  
“I'm going to do my duty by him,” Pippin said firmly, “Frodo Baggins has spent my whole life looking out for me when he could. And not just looking out for me, but done everything from slipping me cakes, and adventure tales, to taking me on long tramps around the West Farthing, and teaching me songs, and making me feel part of whatever family it is that he's built for himself here. I don't mean to speak so seriously, but it's how I feel. I love him, and I want to follow after him. Even if it's far beyond the little walks he'd take me on. I want to follow after.” Merry stared at him, and to Pippin's dismay he saw tears fall down Merry's cheeks. “Merry?” he asked, deeply concerned.  
  
“Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to go to pieces,” Merry breathed through a sniffle and tried to wipe his face and hide his tears. Pippin put a hand on his arm.  
  
“Go on, you’re only crying because your so wretchedly tired. Take a bit of rest, dear lad. I’ll keep a watch. You just trust in me.”  
  
“Thank you, Pippin,” Merry said, his eyes still bright. Pippin snorted and took Merry's arm, laughing softly.  
  
“Dear old ass,” he said and put his cheek on Merry's shoulder. Merry embraced him and they sat together for a long moment, before Merry withdrew, bidding him goodnight.  
  
“Wake me at one, please,” Merry called as he went down the hall. Pippin promised he would, fully aware that he would break that promise and let Merry sleep as long as he might.

<>O<>O<>O<>     

Fatty pressed Thorin on, even as the night deepened. He was determined to ride as hard as he could and gain as much ground as he could, but he had not even reached Frogmorton. Thorin was not the fastest pony, fast generally not being a characteristic that hobbits looked for in their beasts of burden. Fatty was beginning to have to blink and shake himself and his eyes were playing tricks on him. He would have to stop at Frogmorton, he decided unhappily. He was too weary to go on safely.

He shook himself once more, sitting up straighter and rubbing his eyes, for he'd seen some darting movement in the field to his left, that he took to be a trick of his mind, but when he blinked it remained.  A figure darted into the lane and stood, head down, eyes reflecting the moonlight in a very unsettling way. Fredegar tugged the reins, but he needn't have; Thorin came to dead halt and snorted.

It was a wolf.

Thorin carefully stepped back, and Fatty could feel the poor pony begin to shake under him.

“It's alright,” Fatty said softly to him and pulled the reigns carefully, trying to keep Thorin from turning as they edged back away from the beast. “Slowly does it,” Fatty murmured.

A howl echoes across the fields and Fatty caught his breath. That one had come from the south, he thought. The wolf in front of him raised it's head and let out a piercing call and then it was answered by yet another distant howl. _There are more of them!_ Fatty gasped. Thorin bolted, turning to flee back down the lane from where they had come. Fatty held on and prayed the pony wouldn't stumble. He could hear more howling behind him.

They rode hard for some time, it seemed quite a long time to Fatty but as he was only just approaching the turnoff for the Oatbarton road to the north, it must not have been all that long. Sounds of pursuit had died away awhile ago and Fatty tugged at Thorin's reigns, trying to slow the pony. He was going to frighten himself into falling if he wasn't careful. They slowed to a walk and Fatty listened. The night was quiet now.

“Curious,” he whispered. He thought a wolf like that wouldn't find it hard to run down a pony like Thorin, and while he carried a hobbit on his back. But then, all the stories they'd been told by hobbits who saw the wolf always said that when they ran the wolf gave no chase.

“Well it did chase me,” Fatty murmured. But it hadn't chased far. He pondered the Oatbarton road. He could ride north after all. Even if he decided against going all the way to Oatbarton, he could perhaps go north on the road and cut cross country to the east, keeping the Water between himself and this road, until he came to Budgeford.

Fatty turned Thorin north and they went along the smaller road. It was so quiet, and Fatty wished he had his friends with him.

He'd gone on a few of Frodo's mad night walks, and even though they were chancy, as he called them, he had very much enjoyed the little trips. Night walking, and singing under the stars, and having to pull your cloak close against the night chill, was all far more enjoyable that he'd have guessed. And then, when the night had grown old, sitting down to a predawn meal around a campfire, to watch the stars fade and drink warm tea, and eat fire roasted sausage with friends was an unexpected delight.

There was movement again and a wolf slunk out of the weeds at the land side and stood watching. It made no move and no sound. Fatty felt his heart begin to hammer. He was being stalked.  
Thorin carefully stepped back once more, shaking again, but clearly trying not to panic and throw his rider. Fatty patted the pony and they moved back down the road, until Thorin turned and bolted once more. The wolf gave no chase.

_No, I'm not being stalked_ , Fatty realized, _I'm being pushed in some direction! But where to?_

He came back to the East Road and they turned right, headed back to Bywater. This time, Thorin only slowed a bit, keeping up a jaunty pace as best he could.

“Good boy,” Fatty said to him. He rode, dreading to see another wolf walk out on this road too, for it was the only direction left to them. But after a half hour, no such creature appeared.

_That proves it,_ Fatty thought grimly, _I'm being led back to Hobbiton. They won't let me go much into the East Farthing, and I would bet if I tried riding west to Waymoot, I'd find a wolf blocking the path there as well._ It was a chilling thought. _Not ordinary wolves,_ he shuddered, _what was it old Bilbo used to say about the Wargs? Clever beasts, with a language all their own, and they allied themselves with the Goblins and other dark creatures._

“Well whatever they are,” Fatty said to himself, “they've had their way with me. And I have a feeling they aren't done with us yet.” He shivered and looked up to the stars. “I hope your having a better night Frodo. And all the rest of them course.”

Before long he came upon a small cluster of houses near the Three Farthing Stone, hardly enough to call a neighborhood, much less a town, but there was an inn. Fatty made for it, grateful. He had a feeling the wolves would not trouble him now that he was headed back on the path they'd chosen for him, but all the same, he was eager to get inside. And besides, Thorin wouldn't be able to go on much longer. He'd done more than Fatty had any right to ask of him, really.

“Oats and barely for you my lad,” Fatty promised, “and a bed for me.” He felt a little guilty about this, but pushed it aside. Making himself sick by trying to push on wouldn't do Frodo and the others any good. And he didn't want to approach Bag End at night anyway.

So he dismounted at the Stone and Hill Inn and asked for a bed and stable room. He turned and gave one last look at the stars before ducking inside the little rustic inn, closing the door behind him, locking out the chill night air.

<>O<>O<>O<>      

Sweet clear sounds rang out in Frodo's ears and light came back into his mind. He watched the heavens sway before his eyes.  
  
_And so now I come to the end,_ he thought. But it wasn't the end. The moment stretched on, and the cold numbness in his body grew no deeper. He blinked, as the darkness fell away and the stars shone clearer. There was light now in his heart and feathery starlight all around. Voices came to him then, but not the crackling grating dead voices, but voices that rang like bells on a cool clear night.  
  
A face appeared between him and the stars and Frodo had to squint and shield his eyes.  
  
“Speak if you can,” the stranger commanded. He felt a hand on his shoulder and his mind became clear. An Elf was speaking to him.  
  
“Am I slain?” Frodo asked, his mind still drenched in light and confusion.  
  
“No indeed,” the Elf said. Frodo stared up at her, numb. He felt sick and could barely focus on the elf’s face. Deep fear penetrated Frodo's mind and he jerked himself up and cried out. Pain laced up his spine and his limbs ached. “Easy!” the Elf said, but Frodo ignored her, twisting this way and that, his eyes searching for Sam. He'd been at his side! He was sure of it. Just a moment ago. But now, he sat alone. Panic hit him. “Sam? Sam!” he called, weak and desperate, his heart hammering.  
  
“There's another halfling?” he heard an Elvish voice say.  
  
“Over here,” came an answering voice. Two more Elves emerged from the darkness, walking toward a clump of brambles. Frodo forced himself up on shaking legs and scrambled after them.  
  
“They tried to drag this one off.”  
  
“Sam!” Frodo cried and despite the crippling pain, he loped and crawled to her side letting out a whimper and knelt as the Elf turned Sam face up. There were no marks on him, no wounds, as he'd feared, but the gardener's face looked pale and he was so still in the moonlight and Elf light. Frodo touched his shoulder.  
  
“Sam!” he cried unable to keep the pain and fear out of his voice, “Wake up! It’s Frodo! You must wake up now!” Frodo watched for some sign, some movement, but Sam was still. He turned to the Elves, “Help! Please!” they glanced at one another.  
  
“We have already done too much,” said one. The Elves watched one another, silent and uncomfortable. Frodo turned back to Sam. He began to tremble and his vision blurred as tears fell down his cheeks, even as he shook Sam hard.  
  
“Sam,” he whimpered, “Oh my dear, wake up and see the Elves… You’ve always wanted to see them…” He put a hand to Sam's chest, trying to feel for some sign of life, “Please, wake up,” he begged. Sam didn't stir. He bent and put his ear to Sam’s chest, and heard a faint thump from his heart. _Alive! He’s alive!_ Frodo drew back, but realized as he did, that Sam’s chest was not moving. _He’s not breathing!_  He didn't know what to do. Panicked, he pushed Sam onto his side and beat against his back, the way the Brandybucks did when someone was near drowned. Sometimes that would get them breathing again. But Sam was still.  
  
_You're defending a corpse,_ the cursed words echoes back into his mind.  
  
“Breathe, my darling, please,” Frodo panted. Sam’s life, that bright wonderful life, couldn’t be snuffed out like this. It just couldn’t. He couldn’t bear it any more than he could bear the stars in the sky winking out.  
  
“This is too much. I shall help him,” the Elf who had been at Sam’s side said, and she bent down into the mud with Frodo. Frodo looked at her, though he couldn't see anything through his tear filled eyes.  
  
“I am in charge of this company,” came the hard voice of the Elf behind them. Frodo stood on shaking legs and turned, his heart racing. He lifted his face and met the gaze of the Elf, though it hurt his eyes to look upon her brightness.  
  
“I beg you!” Frodo cried. He fell to his knees in front of her and cried out, his words slipping into Sindarin, “I am Frodo Baggins, the heir of Bilbo Baggins, Elf friend, guest of Elrond Half Elven, friend of Gandalf the Wizard, defender of the Elvenking at the Battle of the Five Armies. If the friendship of the Elves means anything, then by that oath of friendship and in the name of Elbereth, I beg you- help my Sam. I will do anything if only you will help him.”  
  
The Elf regarded Frodo silently.  
  
“Gandalf is a friend of yours?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo gasped against a sob. The Elf out a long sigh and gave a curt nod to the woman at Sam's side. She reached down and put a thin pale hand on Sam’s forehead and laid the other on Sam’s chest. She said something under her breath; words too quiet even for Frodo to hear. Sam made a sickly wheezing sound but didn’t open his eyes.  
  
“Sam!” Frodo called again, desperate and crawled to him. He pressed a hand to Sam's chest trying to feel him breathe, but his hands were frozen and numb. Frodo let out a sob and pressed harder. Sam's chest lifted as he took a breath. “Sam?” Frodo said through tears. But Sam didn't stir. Frodo leaned over him anxiously and looked up into the elf’s face. She looked back at him evenly.  
  
“Do you know what wights do to the living?” she asked him. Frodo shook his head, not trusting his voice. She nodded and turned back to Sam, choosing not to answer her own question, then said, “He needs a fire.”  
  
“There is a hobbit hole close by. We had a fire there,” Frodo said.  
  
“I smell it,” said the elf, standing up. She bent and lifted Sam easily.  
  
“Will he be alright?” Frodo asked, wiping his face. She peered down at him.  
  
“I don't know. He needs a fire if he's to have a chance,” she said. Frodo nodded and began leading them back through the woods toward the hole.  
  
“Thank you,” he said softly, “for whatever you did. For giving him a chance.” He took a breath and felt a little more like himself, adding, “if ever I may be of assistance to you or your kin, then call upon me. Any day and any hour of the day. I am Frodo Baggins, Master of the Hill, in Hobbiton, and I am wholly at your service, good people,” he said. “Even if you have no need of my services, you will always find hospitality at my home.” He closed his eyes, joy in his heart. He could almost hear Bilbo's voice calling out, _Tea is at four, but come any time!_  
  
“We appreciate your manners, little hobbit,” said one of the Elves, amused.  
  
The elf who had first spoken to him sped up to walk beside Frodo.  
  
“Can you tell me why such creatures have gathered in your home land? We found that to be very odd. This is known as a safe road.”  
  
Frodo looked up at her. He didn’t feel like talking about it, but he owed these Elves his life.  
  
“These creatures have been stalking me. Me and my friends, when they are near me, anyway. I don't know why.”  
  
“Even more curious,” the Elf said with a frown, “and you are very far from your people.”  
  
“There's been some trouble back home. I took refuge out here. But the creatures found me,” he paused and snuffled, wiping his nose, “I heard a cry in the night, I thought it was my kinsman.”  
  
“Your kinsman, out here?” the Elf asked. Frodo hung his head.  
  
“It must have been a trick of the creatures,” he said. “My Sam warned me of that, but I didn't listen to him. And now he's...” he made a despondent gesture. The Elf frowned.  
  
“Your companion is consumed with the wight’s breath,” she said gently, “those creatures are hideously corrupt spirits that cling to dead forms. They seek what they need most- life. And so they drain the life from their victims." She lapsed into silence. Frodo cringed and looked to Sam in the Elf's arms.  
  
“How will it have hurt him? Having the life... drained?” Frodo asked, afraid of the answer.  
  
“Is he strong?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Then it's likely he'll recover, given the right care. You little men are surprisingly resilient.”  
  
“We're hobbits,” Frodo said quietly.  
  
“You're the same in the ways that count,” the Elf said vaguely. Frodo didn't argue.  
  
Between the trees, Frodo caught sight of the abandoned hole and the Elves ahead already pushing through the creaky little door. They had to stoop, bent almost double to enter the hole. Frodo ran ahead and followed them in. Sam was being laid close to the hearth fire on one of the bedrolls and the Elf who had carried Sam and one other were bent over him.  
  
He looked so small next to them, and so vulnerable. His strong limbs were limp at his sides, his face, usually so expressive, was slack, his mouth open a little. The only comfort came from the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest. The Elf unbuttoned his shirt and pressed her hand to his breastbone. Sam’s breathing eased and a little color came back to his face, though his lips were still blue. Frodo felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the leader of the Elves standing behind him.  
  
“He must be kept warm. Keep this fire going and do not let it falter. I see you've a good supply of wood,” the Elf said approvingly. “And see that he drinks hot things. Nothing cold.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo agreed.  
  
“I do not like that you have been targeted by such creatures,” she said in a low voice.  
  
“What should I do?” Frodo asked. The Elf frowned.  
  
“We are not in the habit of telling people what they should do. Offering such advice is dangerous. The choice is yours.” She paused watching Frodo’s despondent expression. “I will grant you a place in our company if you wish it and I do not make this grant carelessly. You said that you were a friend of Gandalf and I have seen the proof now.” Frodo blinked.  
  
“Oh. The door?” he asked. The Elf nodded.  
  
“Come with us, and we will do what we can against anything that may try and harm you.”  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“To the havens out west,” she paused, “But you must come now. We cannot wait for you.”  
  
“Now?” Frodo asked in alarm and looked over at Sam.  
  
“You’ll have to leave him. He won’t survive on the road.”  
  
“I can’t leave him!” Frodo cried. He had a vision then of Sam lying alone as the fire dwindled into nothing and his body grew colder until his breath stopped; or he might wake, cold and alone, to find some scrap of a note, and then his poor heart would break.  
  
"Are you certain?"  
  
"I am certain," Frodo said and turned to look her in the eye again. She watched him for a long moment.  
  
“Then we will bid you farewell,” she said and bent to lay a hand atop Frodo’s head. “No evil will touch you tonight.” She paused and drew a vial from her cloak and held it out for Frodo to take.  
  
“This is a cordial from what you would call Rivendell. Drink half and give half to your companion. It will do some good against the effects of those creatures.” She glanced at her companions and they rose.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo murmured. “I am grateful. You saved my life and Sam’s tonight and I can never repay that.” He drew in a breath, wiping his cheeks, “really, do come and visit if you're back this way. I’ll give you a splendid supper, and all the best that we hobbits can do,” he smiled, “and, you would make my Sam very happy. He has always wanted to meet one of your people.” She smiled.  
  
“Then I will hope to meet you both on some happier day. And I am very sorry not to have been able to meet your Sam.” Frodo stepped back to make room for the Elves to stand at the door.  
  
“We will bid you farewell, Frodo Baggins Master of the Hill of Hobbiton,” the leader said. Frodo made a deep bow.  
  
“ _Q Tenn' enomentielva_ ,” he said, “until we meet again. On that happier day.” The Elves bowed their heads and left quietly, closing the door behind them. Frodo stared after them in quiet dim smial.  
  
He went to Sam and knelt by him. Sam’s colour had returned and his breathing was untroubled. Unable to help himself, Frodo reached out and touched Sam’s forehead, brushing back his clustered curls of soft brown hair. His hand traced down to Sam’s cheek, only cool instead of ice cold to his relief. He found himself stroking Sam’s cheek. Sam wrinkled his nose and Frodo pulled his hand away, feeling a little abashed.  
  
It occurred to him that he ought to bundle Sam up. The Elf has said he would be chilled and Sam had already pulled himself into a huddled ball. Frodo looked down at the vial in his hand. He did not drink any, but put the precious vial into his bag and then dragged the other bedrolls and blankets over to Sam’s side and piled them around him, covering him with the blankets. He sat back and stared at Sam silently for a moment, then crawled under the blankets himself.  
  
He hesitated a moment more, then put his arms around Sam and held him close.  
  
“You're going to be alright,” Frodo breathed into Sam's ear, “you're here with me. And I won't leave you.” He pressed his nose into Sam's curls. And breathed in his scent, some mix of oatmeal soap, fireplace smoke, and sweat, “Just don't leave me, alright?” he whispered. Sam remained silent. Frodo pressed a kiss to his head and closed his eyes.  
  
It felt impossible that he had overlooked just how important this hobbit was to him. Sam, who greeted him each morning with a nod, who he had long known he could rely on, who he counted on as a reassuring presence around the edges of his solitary life; Sam who was so dear to him that he'd somehow never really seen him. Nor seen what had grown between them, until now. And that Sam was the same Sam who had known his preferences all along. He had known and still been willing to curl up with him, look into his face and say 'I love you', and countless other small intimacies that made him feel loved and cared for over the years.  
  
No. He hadn't lost him. He hadn't lost this bright gentle wonderful presence in his life. The Gamgees hadn't lost their son and brother. And Sam would be allowed to go on living and growing. It was such a dizzying joy that Frodo couldn't feel much else. Sam let out a sigh and a half grumble. Frodo perked up at the sound.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
But Sam settled once more, his breathing easier now. Frodo smiled and let his hand slip down to Sam's breast to press and feel for his heart beat. Warmth and contentment filled him, all from that small steady pulse under his palm.  
  
In the dim and warm it wasn’t long before Frodo nodded off.


	17. Reconnection

Sam woke slowly, his thoughts thick in a head that felt like it had been filled with pudding. He opened his eyes but saw only fuzzy dim shapes and tried to turn his head. He let out a surprised grunt of pain. His joints felt frozen and a deep cold had settled in his chest. He blinked, trying to dispel a haze that had settled before his eyes, but it would not clear. Everything was numb and heavy. And he was so cold.  
  
He had no clear memory of where he was or what he’d been doing. Sam snorted to himself, _What have I been up to, to deserve such a head, with cold and aches? I don’t remember drinking. Nor sleeping in a field._ He was trying to jolly himself along, but it fell flat, and fear and pain ate into him. And the cold was so deep inside him. Piercing his chest like the steel blades of men in the great tales. Sam felt a desperation. He could die from cold like this.  
  
Except, he could feel a little warmth on his face from a fire. And his back was warm.  
  
It anchored him and kept him from flying off into the wide void of cold darkness that pressed him from all sides. He gasped and tried to move himself, turn toward the warm, and burrow closer. He managed to turn himself a little and saw the outline of another hobbit; one who's warm body pressed up against his back with an arm wrapped round him. He turned his head further and blinked.  
  
Frodo's face was tucked close against his shoulder.  
  
Small parts of his memory came back then; the woods and the fog and the creatures. Sam stilled, drinking in the fact that Frodo was safe, and warm, and that his breath tickled against his shoulder. Part of him wanted to stay still and let Frodo sleep, and enjoy the feeling of being held, but the dread cold and nightmare fancies that whispered in his ears and the mist that crackled in front of his vision scared him too much. His body wasn’t holding any heat, except for where Frodo was nestled against him. He pushed his aching joints into motion again and slumped over. He grunted in pain.  
  
“Fr-” he tried to speak, but his throat didn’t want to work. He shivered, shaking hard, having lost Frodo’s warmth against his back. The only thing that gave him the strength to try again was the desperate need to know if Frodo was alright, or if he too was lost in this haze. He turned and brought a hand up to press at Frodo’s shoulder.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he pushed the words through his sore throat, but it was barely a whisper. Frodo shifted slightly but didn't wake. “Mr. Frodo?” He said again and did a little better. Frodo woke and gazed back at him for a moment dully, until his eyes cleared of sleep and he sucked in a surprised breath.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
“Yes sir?” Sam said automatically. Speaking was getting a little easier. Frodo let out a broken wordless cry and pulled him into a hug.  
  
_Heavens_ , Sam thought briefly, _that feels good._ The mist in front of his eyes faded a bit, and the world came back to him. Stay close, Sam pleaded, I’ll be alright if you stay close to me.  
  
As if in answer, Frodo's grip tightened and he hung on, his hand cupping the back of Sam’s head to press him to his shoulder. It was a familiar gesture, one Frodo used when he’d wanted to comfort Sam, though it was something he’d done more when Sam was a child. Sam let himself be held, and stayed quiet, overwhelmed by the warmth from Frodo’s body.  
  
Even as contentment and love eased the ache within him, Sam began to be aware that Frodo was shaking. He blinked, about to ask him what was wrong, when he heard the distinct sound of a gasping sob.  
  
Sam reacted, putting his arm around the other hobbit's back. They held on to each other, the weight of what had happened and what might have happened, crushing out everything else. Sam felt the burn of tears in his eyes and let them fall.  
  
Frodo's breath came in soft wracking gasps. Sam nestled closer, turning to look up into his face. Frodo was crying in earnest now, unable to stifle his sobs. Sam had never seen Frodo like this; he'd hardly seen him cry at all. Frodo had always been so adept at managing his emotions. He'd been the one to reach out and comfort Sam when he cried; patting his back and speaking quietly to soothe him. Sam couldn't bear not to offer that same comfort, though he knew on some level it wasn't his place. He brought a shaking hand up to tentatively stroke Frodo's curls.  
  
“M'dear,” he whispered, “don’t cry so.” Frodo gazed at him and brought a hand up to rest against Sam’s shoulder, his whole body shaking.  
  
“You’ll have to forgive me, dear Sam. I just need a moment more to cry. I do apologize.” Sam blinked, feeling tears slide down his own cheeks.  
  
“Oh,” he murmured, “you do what’s needful then.” He drew his arm back around Frodo and pulled them snug against one another. Frodo tucked his face into the hollow at Sam’s shoulder and they quieted once more. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed Frodo’s back. He could hear and feel the soft gasps in his ear as Frodo cried.  
  
After a time, he began to murmur to him, mostly nonsense, whatever he thought might be a comfort, because Frodo had done that for him many times and he'd always found it soothing, to hear such kind words from such a well loved voice.  
  
“We're alright. And we're both here... Naught will happen to you, dearie. To either of us. Your Sam is here... It's alright. Everything is alright.”  
  
“Ah... Is it?” Frodo asked softly and drew back, his face tear stained, but his composure coming back. Sam smiled at him.  
  
“Seems to be so,” Sam said quietly, “though I don't know how that came to be. I expect you've saved us.”  
  
“No, I couldn't do anything,” Frodo said softly, “It's all down to the Elves that we're alive at all.” Sam took a breath, stilling.  
  
“Elves, sir? Real Elves? And you didn't wake me?” he tried not to sound accusatory, but he couldn't keep it out of this voice altogether. Frodo let out a gasping laugh and met his eyes.  
  
“I am very sorry. I did try,” he murmured and pulled the blanket up to wipe his eyes. “How do you feel?”  
  
“Cold,” Sam breathed, “Like I have a hunk of ice in my belly. And I can't seem to get warm, just like Mr. Pippin in Michel Delving,” Frodo drew close again, and he rubbed Sam's back. Sam took a breath, feeling soothed by Frodo's touch and the return of his warmth. “Thank you. That's helping.”  
  
“The Elves said you must be kept warm,” Frodo said mournfully. He blinked and turned over, opening the flap of his little bag. Sam shivered but tried to keep still. Frodo turned back to him, holding out a small vial filled with clear liquid. “And they left this for you. It will help you feel better.” He helped Sam up, and Sam propped himself up on his elbow and took the little vial from Frodo.  
  
“What is it?” he asked, uncorking it and smelling it.  
  
“They called it a cordial. Said it was from Rivendell.”  
  
“It smells like liquor, but like no liquor I ever had,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Drink,” Frodo told him, moving close again, to share his warm. Sam nodded and drank all of it down, savoring the Elf cordial. It sent a bolt of heat through him and he felt a new strength in his heart and limbs. The ache in his joints melted, and his head cleared, the pulsing whispers of nightmare and deathly cold lifted. He could feel his body again, warm and alive. Sam blinked at Frodo, amazed. Frodo rubbed his back and smiled at him. “Better?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam breathed. He handed the empty vial back to Frodo and Frodo helped him ease back down into the blankets. “They also told me that I must keep you close to the fire.”  
  
“Well I have to say I've no problem with staying near the fire,” Sam said, burrowing closer to Frodo. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked. Frodo nodded.  
  
“I was taken by that thing,” he said in a whisper, “I don't remember much after it touched me, but when I woke I was lying in the mud and when I sat up I saw the wights not far away, hunched over you. You were,” Frodo broke off and Sam felt a shiver run though him, “I couldn't see much of you. But I tried to keep them off you.”  
  
“You did what?” Sam asked, gripping Frodo's hand.  
  
“I had Pippin's dagger,” Frodo said softly, “I stabbed one of them.”  
  
“Oh m’dear. You brave hobbit,” Sam breathed. Frodo cast his eyes down and let out a soft laugh.  
  
“Desperate, more like,” he lifted his eyes and peered at Sam, “besides. Whatever I did, you did it too. You were in that clearing because you attacked them, didn’t you?” Sam went shy and pressed a kiss to Frodo’s hand. “I thought as much.” He paused, then continued, “It was for nothing in the end. They pulled me down and took my dagger. I may have fainted then. For when I came back to my senses I was looking into the face of an Elf. And you weren't at my side anymore. The Elves said that the creatures tried to drag you off, and that you were consumed with the wight's breath,” Frodo breathed and his eyes flicked shut and he shuddered, “when I reached you, you weren't breathing, though I could hear your heart beating when I put my ear to your chest,” Frodo's voice dropped away again, “one of the Elves touched you and you took a breath. That's when they said we must get you to a fire, if,” Frodo’s voice caught, “if you were to live through the night.” Frodo bowed his head, grief in his expression and Sam drew them together.  
  
“I'm alright,” Sam said gently.  
  
“I was such a fool, Sam,” Frodo said, pained, “You told me to stay in the hole, but I couldn't listen to you. And did I really knock you down?”  
  
“Ah well, you sort of knocked us both down,” Sam chuckled. Frodo let out a little gasp of sorrow. “Hey now,” Sam said, looking into Frodo's face, “you were out of your head worried over Mr. Merry. That thing made you think he was out there alone and hurt and in danger.”  
  
“Why did you follow after me, you silly hobbit?” Frodo asked. Sam went quiet and let the silence grow between them for a moment as he tried to speak.  
  
“You know why,” he said, feeling tearful. Frodo stared at him, pain in his eyes. “Maybe I was silly,” Sam murmured, “what's a gardener going to do against creatures like that? But then what's Frodo Baggins going to do against creatures like that, hey? No, I won't let you face those things alone.”  
  
“But you almost died tonight,” Frodo said quietly. Sam only watched him. “Doesn't that scare you?”  
  
“It all of it scares me,” Sam said quietly, “you almost died tonight too, you know.”  
  
“I know,” Frodo said softly, dropping his gaze. Sam let the silence stand a moment, but it wasn't the usual warm silence between them. Frodo looked so grim and sad.  
  
“It's true,” he said after a while, “the rumors about me.”  
  
“Which rumors?” Sam asked lightly, trying to make Frodo smile. The gentlehobbit only looked mournful though.  
  
“The ones that say I draw trouble and death and sadness.”  
  
“Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, his voice indignant, but Frodo ignored him.  
  
“I don't want that for you. I want you to have a good long life,” Frodo said, “No bitterness of night out in the Wild, no pain and fear of death bearing down on you, no evil touching you. I want you to be at ease, living in a quiet corner of the Shire with a family to make you happy.” Sam frowned, feeling a twinge of frustration. What was Frodo saying? Here he was trying to push a future on him, the way that everyone else did. _He thinks it's what he ought to do,_ Sam realized, _he thinks he's being responsible. Looking out for me. But it's kindness getting in the way of his wisdom again._ Sam sighed.  
  
“Well, I can't say as I want hard nights out in the Wild nor fear of attack or any of the rest of it. But living in a quiet corner of the Shire ain't the only good life for a hobbit neither,” he said and smiled slightly, “you remember all those years ago, when we sat out behind Bag End and talked about what we wanted in life?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Do you remember what I said?”  
  
“You said,” Frodo frowned, “you wanted to go sailing. And see stars hanging over the waves. And meet Elves and the like.” Sam nodded.  
  
“That's right. I hoped for things that most hobbits would say leads to a bad end. And I still want things that don't make for a settled life.”  
  
“Sam...”  
  
“I want you in my life.”  
  
Frodo froze, sending Sam an amazed look. Sam felt a jot of pity. Had no one ever said as much to him?  
  
“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said quietly, “I’m not terribly practiced in speaking from the heart, and I’m trying to find some way to tell you how deeply it touches me when you say things like that. But,” he let out a small laugh, “Oh. I really am rotten at this. Just know that I want you in my life as well.” Sam smiled helplessly.  
  
“I know, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured.  
  
“The Elves say to count your blessings not your worries. I suppose I should,” Frodo gulped. Sam smiled.  
  
“Oh, but I should have liked to see them. What were they like?” Frodo gave him a watery smile.  
  
“I promise you I’ll find you some Elves, dear Sam,” he said and took his hand, “There were three of them. They were very tall and spoke quietly, much more serious than some of the Elves I’ve met,” Frodo made a face, “and I forgot to ask their names. I suppose they were coming from Rivendell and going to their havens out West.”  
  
Sam tried to listen but was distracted by the warm hand clasping his own. The chill wasn’t so bad since he’d had the cordial, but when one bit of him was warm and the rest wasn’t he seemed to feel the cold more. If he were brave Sam could have asked Frodo to hug him again and stay that way; he didn’t think Frodo would object but Sam didn’t think he could bring himself to ask such a thing. Instead he drew Frodo’s hand close and tucked it under his chin, cradling that heat close with slow drowsy movements.  
  
“They wore silver garments, like the colour of beech bark, and their hair was long and not at all like hobbit hair, and they were very kind to me. At least, they got kinder when they learned that Gandalf is a friend of mine,” Frodo trailed off, his voice growing softer and he lapsed into silence. Sam realized with a start that he had been stroking Frodo’s hand. When there were no more words Sam glanced up, ready to ask another question, but the look on Frodo’s face made any further questions evaporate. Sam stared into those beautiful dark eyes, so full of intelligence, kindness, and above all, love. Love that he wasn’t bothering to hide.  
  
_And why should he?_ Sam wondered a little dazed, after tonight, after knowing with a shock of certainty that he would give his life for this other hobbit, Sam didn’t think he would be able to hide what he felt either. A slow throb began within him and Sam found he couldn’t push it down. It felt good and the longer he gazed at Frodo the stronger it took root. He’d never felt such a deep want in his life. He ached to lay Frodo back and climb on top of him and press a kiss to his mouth.  
  
_Save me, but I’m going to do something rash,_ Sam thought, looking into those eyes. They gazed at one another in silence and Sam let out a slow breath. He wasn't strong enough for this. _Oh he knows. He knows I love him with all my heart, what’s the point in hiding any of it anymore?_ Sam moved closer, touching his forehead to Frodo's taking the opportunity to gaze at him at this close range. _Why should I hide from him?_ Frodo gazed back, contentment in his eyes. _I don't want to hide from him._ He tilted his head up and raised his hand, about to settle it in Frodo's curls. Frodo's eyes widened and a shock of nerves hit Sam. He drew his hand away, his heart pounding suddenly. _What am I doing? I can't just go touching him like this! He don't want Sam Gamgee kissing him!_ He drew back a little, feeling heat hit his cheeks. Frodo watched him, curious.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Ah. Naught,” Sam mumbled. Frodo's expression eased and he drew them back together, tucking Sam close.  
  
“Were you afraid you were being too familiar?” he asked softly, taking Sam's hand in his own. Sam gazed at him.  
  
“Yes,” he breathed. Frodo hummed.  
  
“Dear hobbit,” he said, and lay a kiss on the back of Sam's hand. Sam closed his eyes, feeling a shiver deep inside him that had nothing to do with the wight's breath. “Be as familiar as you like. Let’s take comfort where we can,” Frodo murmured and drew Sam's hand up to light in the curls behind his ear. Sam took a breath, watching him.  
  
_He's so brave,_ he thought and let his fingers brush through Frodo's dark curls. _Soft_ , Sam thought fuzzily, watching Frodo’s face to catch every slow blink and to revel in the deep peace in his expression. He drew his hand down a little to light against Frodo's cheek and brushed a thumb across the thin skin under his eye. Frodo watched him with slight bemusement, bearing each touch without comment, but there was also a softness in his eyes that told Sam his caresses were welcome and would be remembered fondly.  
  
_He likes this,_ Sam thought, feeling elated, _he likes me touching him._ He smiled, feeling his nerves ease. _He likes this and he likes me. Just the way I am. I don't have to give him fancy speeches or cleverness. Just simple Sam Gamgee is enough to make him smile. Simple Sam Gamgee is enough to put that love in his eyes._  
  
“Sir?” Sam said quietly, letting his hand trail down to Frodo’s shoulder.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Can I tell you something?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“I was wanting to kiss you just now, only I hadn't the courage for it,” Sam admitted, tightness drawing up in his chest. He expected Frodo to draw away or frown at him at least, but instead Frodo smiled, chuckling.  
  
“Samwise Gamgee, you’ve kissed me before.”  
  
“Eh?” Sam stared, bewildered for a moment, then drew in a breath, “Oh!” he almost laughed, then added sheepishly, “You were awake for that?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo smiled, “I didn’t want to fluster you so I pretended to be asleep. And perhaps I was a little shy about it.”  
  
“Was it alright?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said firelight in his eyes. He added quietly, “it made me feel loved.” Sam made a soft sound. There could only be one answer to that. He set a hand to Frodo cheek and lifted his chin, kissing Frodo’s forehead. Frodo’s eyes flicked shut and he stilled, holding his breath. Sam lingered a moment then drew away, tucking his hands back to his own chest.  
  
“That’s a sweetness and no mistake,” he murmured, “but it weren’t quite what I meant.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I was wanting to kiss you on your mouth. Proper like,” Sam added primly. Frodo watched him, stilling. _It’s alright,_ Sam told himself as fear latched back onto him, _he loves me and he won’t judge me harshly. Trust him._  
  
“My mouth?” Frodo breathed, clearly puzzled.  
  
“Aye,” Sam braced himself but Frodo only frowned a little, pausing.  
  
“But you don't like lads,” he said.  
  
“Well now. Just let me decide that, hey?” Sam murmured gently with a small smile. Frodo's eyes widened, but he stayed quiet. Sam took a breath and added, “would you kiss me?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I'd like it,” Sam said. Frodo blinked, looking startled.  
  
“Would you really?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam said, feeling his nerves rise despite himself. Frodo paused again, caught in indecision. “You don't have to. Not if you don't want,” Sam added. Frodo met his eyes.  
  
“It's not that.”  
  
“Ah,” Sam said, waiting. Frodo watched him closely, his gaze careful and evaluative in a way that Sam had never seen.  
  
“...A sweetness between us?” Frodo murmured after a moment. Sam blinked.  
  
“It would be sweet. To kiss you,” he said. Frodo's frown vanished and he snorted color rising to his cheeks. Sam felt his spirits lift.  
  
“I had no idea you were such a charmer, Sam Gamgee,” Frodo laughed lightly, his eyes seeking Sam's, “it would be sweet. For me as well. And a comfort, too.”  
  
“Then let’s take comfort where we can,” Sam said. Frodo smiled.  
  
“Yes, let’s,” he murmured, brushing a curl back from Sam’s face as he leaned in. Sam smiled at him and put his arm around Frodo's shoulders. Frodo hesitated only a moment more, then dipped his head and turned his chin up so that their lips touched. Sam shivered at the touch, his heart picking up and a flush of warmth lighting through him. His lips parted and Frodo turned his face so that they could press in closer, his tongue darting in for brief contact. Frodo drew back, checking Sam's expression.  
  
Sam touched his cheek, giving him a tender look, before he leaned in and lay a firm kiss to Frodo's lips, letting his eyes close to block out everything but this wonderful thing happening between them. Frodo sighed through his nose and Sam felt an arm wind tight around his back as the kiss deepened. Sam adored kissing and this was the sweetest kiss he'd ever shared with anyone.  
  
After a time, Sam opened his eyes, feeling Frodo's regard. They parted, barely, and watched one another. Solemnly, Frodo reached up, and put his palm on Sam's cheek, stroking his skin, the way Sam had done for him. Then, slowly he resumed their kiss. There had been something in his eyes, Sam thought. Something important, but he didn’t know what.  
  
Sam could have kissed Frodo for the rest of the night, but after a few more moments, Frodo drew back, his eyes shining, a warm smile on his lips as he touched his nose to Sam's.  
  
“You really do surprise me, Sam,” he said.  
  
“Twas really such a surprise?” Sam asked gently, “that I'd want to share a kiss with you?” Frodo gazed at him, his eyes serious.  
  
“It's not exactly done.”  
  
“I don't always hold with what's done.”  
  
“My bad influence?”  
  
“Nay now,” Sam laughed a little.  
  
“I suppose I've seen that small bit of wildness in you a few times,” Frodo said.  
  
“Wildness? Not sure I'd call it that. I like, unexpectedness, better.”  
  
“Very well,” Frodo smiled wide enough to show his teeth, “my dear companion gardener who has good taste in beer, a dab hand in the kitchen, and a touch of unexpectedness about him.”  
  
“That's all of it right,” Sam sighed, happy, and bent to tuck himself against Frodo. Frodo's arms opened and settled on his shoulders. The warmth seeped into Sam's skin and he let out a deeply contented sigh. Frodo kissed the top of his head. They stilled and Sam closed his eyes, relaxing. The fire popped softly behind him and Frodo's hand was stroking his hair. It all felt so right and wonderful. Apart from the stubborn cold that was still latched into his chest. He shivered and tried to wriggle a little closer to Frodo without disturbing him.  
  
“Are you cold, my dear?” Frodo asked him. Sam nodded. “Turn round. You can face the fire and I’ll be snug at your back.” Sam hesitated. It sounded nice but he couldn’t bear to turn away from Frodo. He couldn’t get enough of gazing up into his face and seeing love there. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I don’t want to,” Sam said in a small voice. Frodo laughed lightly and fixed him with a slightly shy look.  
  
“Alright,” he said and moved closer, dropping his arm from Sam's head down around his back and pressed his chest and hips to Sam’s. “It’s a little more improper, but then what do I care for that?” He smiled and bent his head so that his nose brushed Sam’s forehead. “I’m Mad Baggins, after all.”  
  
“You’re not,” Sam protested. Frodo chuckled quietly. Silence stretched for a long moment.  
  
“I’ve never slept so close with anyone,” Frodo said softly.  
  
“No?” Sam asked, a little surprised.  
  
“No,” Frodo murmured. Sam felt himself blushing, picturing Frodo in bed with some lad.  
  
“Well. You never had brothers,” Sam said quickly. He felt Frodo snort.  
  
“You did this with Halfred and Hamson?”  
  
“Not this!” Sam said, “but it was awful tight the three of us in one bed.”  
  
“I can’t imagine you all fit.”  
  
“I was a good bit littler last time we all shared a bed. But even so,” Sam said into the darkness.  
  
“You were such an adorable child,” Frodo sighed fondness in his voice. “All bouncing curls and shiny eyes. I never could say you nay.” He paused, “I still can’t resist you.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“You think so do you?” Frodo asked, a tease in his voice. Sam grunted and didn’t answer. Frodo had just kissed him at his request. And held him close as they faced each other, just because Sam said he didn’t want to turn around. And, of course, he’d done all manner of things just to please Sam in countless ways over the years. Snatches of Frodo's voice came to him as he closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against Frodo's warm skin.  
  
_"Alright, one more story... That’s a rather long one, Sam... Your favorite is it? Very well then."_  
  
_"If you think nasturtiums would look nice in the window box then yes, please plant what you like, master gardener. I trust your judgment."_  
  
_"It’s not that cold. Really I don’t need a hat... Oh alright, Sam! If you insist!"_  
  
_"Of course you can have another beer! It’s a party. Here, I’ll draw it for you."_  
  
_"Yes, you can sit with me. Come here, we’ll share my cloak. It’s freezing out here."_  
  
_He's spent years doing what he can to make me happy,_ Sam thought, his mind slowing as he fell asleep, _And years looking after me, and caring for me. Protecting me. Small things and big things and things I'll never know about. He's_ _devoted to me. And I to him._  
  
“I love you,” Sam murmured, on the verge of sleep.  
  
“I love you too,” Frodo breathed, his voice equally slow and sleepy. _He's so unguarded,_ Sam managed to think, _just falling asleep with me. And me falling asleep with him. Like we done this a thousand times._  
  
_I want to..._  
  
But Sam didn't get to finish that thought before sleep settled over him.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Merry sipped his coffee and gazed out the window, watching the soft glow of predawn light the lands below the Hill. He turned at the sound of footsteps and watched Pippin stumble into the kitchen and head toward the coffee press.  
  
“Morning,” Merry said. Pippin made a muffled grunting sound and poured coffee from the press into a mug.  
  
“Didn't think you drank coffee,” Merry remarked absently. Pippin blinked at him and sipped, making a horrified face as he lowered the mug. Merry chuckled.  
  
“Cream and sugar is just there,” he said, pointing to the counter.  
  
“Thank you, Merry,” Pippin groaned.  
  
“You're up rather early,” he said.  
  
“Someone was pacing,” Pippin said, not turning away from the counter, “up and down the hallway. For a long time.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Merry said sheepishly, “sorry about that.”  
  
“It's alright,” Pippin said setting his back to the counter, sipping his milky coffee. His eyes slipped shut and he sighed, “that's better.” They settled into silence, drinking their coffee in contemplation.  
  
“So,” Pippin said after a time, “did you come up with anything? All that pacing?”  
  
“Well. Not much. Just that I'm going to go see Frodo and Sam,” Merry said, “as soon as it's properly light. And as soon as we can get the Gamgees up here to keep an eye on things.”  
  
“Frodo told us not to do that.”  
  
“Frodo needs to get over that notion and realize that there are people who want to help him,” Merry said tartly into his cup. Pippin leaned back and smiled.  
  
“But what's so urgent then?”  
  
“I have a bad feeling,” Merry said darkly, “All was quiet here last night. I just need to see that he's alright. That they're both alright.”  
  
“Very well. Me too,” Pippin said.  
  
“You could stay here,” Merry began.  
  
“None of that. I'm going,” Pippin said briskly.  
  
“Fine. I'm not arguing,” Merry said lightly.  
  
“No?”  
  
“I've decided it's a waste of time. To argue with any of you. We all of us are so stubborn that we'll never give in. You'd think that would mean none of us would be friends.”  
  
“Just the opposite, though,” Pippin hummed.  
  
“Exactly.”

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Frodo opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Sam’s head, tucked close to his own, and felt Sam’s arm draped around his side. A warm glow spread through him, as he remembered the previous night, remembering Sam’s eyes, his kiss, and his touch. Sam opened his eyes. They stared at one another, quiet for a long moment. Then Sam eased and yawned.  
  
“Good morning, sir,” he said.  
  
“Good morning,” Frodo replied. He lay there a moment, resting his eyes, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of lying so close to Sam. But after a time he sighed and got up.  
  
“How about some breakfast?” Frodo asked, cheerfully. Sam blinked sleepily at him and nodded.  
  
“Yes please,” he said.  
  
“We never ate last night. I'm starving,” Frodo added.  
  
“I wasn't hungry last night,” Sam said slowly, frowning, “and I'm still not hungry.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Frodo said, “that won't do. I'll see if I can make something to tempt you.” He had to get a little creative, given his limited supplies, but he was able to pull together a hearty warming breakfast. Merry had packed quite a few pantry staples, and there were even a few cool items , tucked away in a sealed jar, submerged in the little creek nearby, tied to tree roots to keep them from floating away. Frodo went to retrieve one of the jars and brought it back into the smial.  Then, he fell into the rhythm of cooking.   
  
Frodo sliced thick cuts of cured bacon and set them down into the deep cast iron pan, then layered in diced sweet potatoes. He cracked a few eggs over the potatoes, and added pepper and mushrooms and parsley, and a few small onions. He opened the bottle of cream and poured a bit over the mixture to soak into the mushrooms and potatoes, and added small slices of butter and salt. He set the pan into the fire and then rose, corking the bottle of cream and taking it with him as he went back outside to the creek. He tied it, then sat, listening to the water trickle gently in the morning light.  
  
_Sam kissed me,_ he thought, _and I kissed him._ Frodo let his eyes fall shut as he let himself linger on it, warm and bright and sweet. It was still a little bewildering. Sam had offered it, asked for it.  _Was it only something he wanted to do to please me?_ Frodo wondered. But that didn’t feel quite right. At least, it didn’t feel like the whole picture. He’d asked Sam why and Sam told him, "I’d like it". And he’d been truthful, Frodo was certain of that. Kissing was pleasant and sweet, and was it really so strange that Sam might want to?  
  
_I’ve spent so long telling myself not to trust what I feel that I’m a little lost now,_ Frodo thought. He sat a few more moment in silent contemplation.  
  
_I may be lost, but Sam’s with me. He’ll help me find my way. He always has._  
  
When Frodo returned, Sam sitting up, close to the fire, watching the mixture as it warmed over the coals.  
  
“What do you think? How does breakfast potatoes sound?” Frodo asked.  
  
“It sounds very fine. And it smells better. I think I can eat,” Sam sighed. Frodo smiled at him and sat down beside him.  
  
“I'm not supposed to let you drink cool things. We're going to have hot meals for a while. And I'll make you tea too. Whenever you need it,” Frodo said slowly.  
  
“You don't have to care for me so,” Sam said shyly.  
  
“I want to,” Frodo murmured. Sam looked at him, with the same wonder and love in his eyes that he'd had the previous night, and Frodo felt his heart melt. _Sweet hobbit,_ he thought.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“What do we do now?” Sam asked. Frodo felt his hands go nerveless.  
  
“What?” he asked dizzily. Sam cocked his head.  
  
“What if those things come back?”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo blinked and turned back to the fire, “Well. As for that,” he paused, “I don't see any reason to think that I won't be attacked again. The Elves didn't kill those things. Only frightened them away. So, I think I must leave. Sooner rather than later. Perhaps I should go now and seek the Elves where I can find protection. It’s not safe here. And I can’t bear to keep putting people I love in danger.”  
  
“I’m still coming with you,” Sam said narrowing his eyes. Frodo nodded.  
  
“I agreed to that, after all. And arguing with you about it is pointless, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“I thought so. Besides,” he frowned, “I’m not terribly sure you’d be safe if you stayed. Someone has made you a target. If I disappeared I think you’d be at risk if my attackers thought you could lead them to me. And if you couldn’t then they might do other things.” He sank into silence.  
  
“But they won’t. Cause I’ll be with you.”  
  
“I only hope I’m not leading you out into some lonely place to die," Frodo said tightly, gazing into the fire, "You understand that’s a real possibility.”  
  
“There’s always that possibility. But I made up my mind I’m sticking with you,” Sam said gently. Frodo gazed at him then put his arms round Sam and pulled him close. After a moment he drew back, and tried to find something more cheerful to talk about.  
  
“So where are we going?” Sam asked. That would do.  
  
“Well, I thought perhaps we might head west. To the havens. It’s not terribly far away and there’s always the chance we’ll meet up with a group of elves headed there themselves so we would to be alone the whole way. And I did promise to find you some Elves.”  
  
“You did,” Sam said, giving him pleaded look. “And what of Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and Mr. Fatty?” He asked. Frodo fell silent.  
  
“I suppose I must tell them,” he said.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“But I don’t want to delay. I suppose I could leave a note?” Sam stared in shock.  
  
“That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing to leave in a note. And,” he dropped his eyes, “I'd like to tell my Da something. If that’d be possible.” Frodo's eyes widened.  
  
“Of course,” he said.  
  
“I don't know what I'll tell him. He won't take kindly to it, no matter what I say,” Sam sighed, “you sure it’d be alright to take the time?”  
  
“You must talk to your father. I’ll not hear of it otherwise,” Frodo said briskly, “I’ve already caused your father grief. I’ll not take his son away without a word. And yes, now that I think it out. We can't just leave. So, there will be time. We're going to need supplies. And help. And there is something at Bag End that I need.” He paused and shook himself, adding, “Besides, You’re not well enough for travel yet.”  
  
“I am,” Sam protested. Frodo eyed him, but didn't argue.  
  
“I think we'll wait here a little longer. Then, if Merry or Pippin doesn't come out here before elevensees, we make out way back to Bag End. We'll be careful, and I'll kept my head under a cloak or something. And we'll use the secret passages.”  
  
“Chancy, but, aye,” Sam said slowly. They sank into silence and devoted their attentions to breakfast.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

After they'd finished breakfast, Frodo tidied up, bidding Sam to stay near the fire. Sam was shivering again and he didn't argue. While Frodo worked, Sam felt himself slip into a doze. Some of the effect of the cordial had worn off. The mist drifted back in front of his eyes, but at least the deadly cold was still tamped down. The fire kept it back and also, he thought, there was something about Frodo being near that kept the deep cold and the nightmares from biting into him.  
  
_Silly hobbit,_ he told himself, _tis your imagination. Mr. Frodo is warm and kind and it feels nice to be near him, but he isn't magic. He's no Elf._   And yet, when Frodo finished tidying and got under the blankets and put himself at Sam's back, wrapping his arms around him, Sam found that the mist lifted and the world came back warm and clearer. Sam opened his eyes and turned his head a little, murmuring his thanks.  
  
“You're going to scorch your face sitting so close to the fire. Lean back. There you are,” Frodo said quietly. Sam took a breath at the warm weight draped against his back and sighed in undisguised relief.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“Much,” Sam murmured. He felt Frodo set his cheek against his back and his embrace tightened. Sam let his eyes drift shut. He was still shivering, but his face was warm from the fire and Frodo's body heat was seeping into him once more. Frodo hummed softly and reached up to brush his fingers through Sam’s hair.  
  
“My dear, you’ve singed the ends of your curls.”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“It’s not too bad though,” Frodo breathed. Sam sighed. He was filled with a deep peace as his body slowly relaxed. He'd been so drawn up and tight from the cold that he hadn't realized how tense he was. He felt Frodo's hand move up to his shoulder, rubbing to work warmth into his limb, then down his arm to cup the back of Sam's frozen fingers.  
  
“Your hand is too cold,” Frodo murmured, and brought his other hand to press against Sam's palm. He rubbed slowly, sandwiching Sam's hand with his own. “Is that helping?” Frodo asked quietly in his ear.  
  
“Mm,” Sam sighed, too caught up in the sensation of being held and warmed like this.  
  
“I wish I had you at Bag End. I could run you a bath and let you soak in hot water. That seemed to help Pippin.”  
  
_I just need you,_ Sam thought, and blushed at the thought of saying it. Maybe Frodo wasn't magic, but he was clearly having an effect. _It must be what I feel for him,_ Sam thought blearily. They settled in together and Sam listened to the fire crackle and let his mind drift. Mostly he thought about what they'd said to one another the previous night.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he said, after a few minutes.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Can I ask something a little delicate?”  
  
“Well,” Frodo laughed, “you can ask.”  
  
“You said last night you were afraid to tell me you liked lads when we tweens, that you wanted to have someone to talk on. I just wondered did you tell anyone?”  
  
“Ah,” Frodo sighed, “no. I never had the courage. Fatty figured it out a while ago. But we never spoke on it. Merry and Pippin only very recently realized it.” Sam considered this. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“I’d just hoped you had someone to talk to. I feel a bit sad about it.”  
  
“Oh don’t feel sad. It was all my own fault.”  
  
“No it wasn’t,” Sam said stubbornly, “It’s the fault of every hobbit that was an ass about it. Made you feel you couldn’t trust those who were dear to you. I hate that.”  
  
“Dearest hobbit,” Frodo tucked his head against Sam’s shoulder.  
  
There was a knock at the door and Frodo turned, his arms tightening around Sam. They cast glances at one another.  
  
“Who’s there?” Sam called.  
  
“Merry And Pippin!”  
  
“Come in!” Frodo called, relieved. The door opened and the cousins peered in, moving inside.  
  
“Good morning you two!” Merry said.  
  
“Good morning, you are here early,” Frodo said amiably. Sam was surprised that Frodo didn’t move from his side, or take his arms away. Pippin blinked at them.  
  
“Well, I wanted to check on you,” Merry said, sitting down before the fire, seemingly taking no note that they were huddled close.  
  
“Kind of you,” Frodo said, “did you have any trouble last night?”  
  
“None,” Merry answered.  
  
“I am glad to hear that,” Frodo said conversationally. Pippin sat down close, still staring at them. Merry frowned and leaned over, smacking Pippin's shoulder. Pippin cried out and turned to slap at Merry. Sam heard Frodo chuckle in his ear.  
  
“Stop it, Merry!” Pippin spat, “I think those creatures got at Sam!” he turned and fixed Sam with his bright gaze, “didn't they?” Merry sat up, gasping.  
  
“Yes, Mr. Pippin,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Damn it!” Merry cried.  
  
“We’re alright,” Frodo said soothingly.  
  
“But how?” Merry said, unhappy, “didn't the door protect you?”  
  
“It's a rather long story,” Frodo said quietly, “but we did confirm that the door has Gandalf's mark on it! You were right,” he said, clearly trying to cheer Merry up. Merry only stared back, not at all cheered. Frodo sighed. “Alright. I think we need tea for this,” he said and eased away from Sam's back, adding, “Sorry, Sam.” Sam nodded shyly but kept quiet. Frodo went to the packs and took out the tea pot, then went out, going to the creek for water. Pippin sighed and got up.  
  
“I'll go bring the supplies in,” he said and went to the door, slipping out.  
  
“Supplies?” Sam asked softly. Merry sent him a glance.  
  
“We loaded up a small cart and brought it out. It's mostly clothes and some of Frodo's bath things. Thought he might be wanting to bathe, even if he has to do it in a creek.” As he spoke, Merry slid closer and slipped under the blankets. “I beg your pardon, Sam,” he added leaning foreword and putting his hands respectfully on Sam’s shoulders, pressing his chest to Sam’s back.  
  
“Oh. Thank you, Mr. Merry,” Sam sighed.  
  
“Thank you,” Merry said quietly, “for last night. I am so very grateful you were here.”  
  
“I didn’t do anything. Nothing that helped him anyway,” Sam sighed.  
  
“I’m still grateful,” Merry said.  
  
“Well,” Sam murmured, “I suppose I am too.” He heard Merry chuckle.  
  
“I smacked Pippin because I thought he was staring at the pair of you. I just thought you two were being friendly,” Merry said. Sam laughed lightly.  
  
“Mr. Frodo was keeping me warm, but I suppose we were being friendly too.”  
  
“Oh,” Merry said, his voice warm, “I am glad of that.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Pippin came back in, dragging two large sacks. He deposited them by the door, then gave them a curious look, before going to join them. He unabashedly crawled under the blankets and put his arms around Sam.  
  
“This is what was best, for me at least,” Pippin said, “it seemed to remind my limbs that they were alive.”  
  
“What was that?” Merry asked curiously.  
  
“Oh. Frodo held me all the way back from Michel Delving.”  
  
Frodo entered the hole then and glanced at them. He smiled, but didn’t comment as he suspended the kettle over the fire. Then he too got under the covers, taking the free place on Sam’s right side.  
  
“Thank you. All of you,” Sam said shyly.  
  
“We hobbits are creatures of comfort. If we can bring you any like this, then we will. Besides,” Merry murmured, “I think it’s only like this that we can bear to hear the tale.”  
  
Frodo told it to them, in quiet words. Sam thought he was too humble about it all, and he was sure he left out some of the hardness. But even with the omissions, Sam was touched all over again by what Frodo had done for him. He had added his own brief story, his desperate chase into the woods, and a description of the false Elves that he'd encountered.  
  
“And I said that phrase Mr. Frodo taught me, his Elvish greeting. They acted like it was an evil thing I said. But I knew Mr. Frodo's greeting was right, and good,” Sam murmured. He turned and looked into Frodo's eyes then and saw something beautiful and intimate. They paused a moment, then Sam pushed on, “So I said it again. And they didn't like it. And I could see then that they weren't what they tried to make me see. And so I ran away.” Frodo paused to pour tea and handed cups around. Then, he picked up the story again and brought them to the end, when the Elves left. He didn't mention anything after that – nothing about what they'd shared after Sam woke in the night - and Sam gave him another look. Frodo peered back at him, smiling.  
  
“And so,” he said, “somehow, with the help of the Elves and a bit of luck, we got through it.”  
  
“Luck,” Merry breathed. They were quiet for a long moment, listening to the fire crackle and sipped thier tea. Sam began to feel the peace and warmth around him lulling him into a doze. “What was it Bilbo always said?” Merry asked quietly, “Unexpected luck of widows' sons?”  
  
“Frodo's not a widows' son,” Pippin said sleepily, after a pause.  
  
“Sam is,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Um. Hmm.”  
  
“Widows are women aren't they? What's the male form?”  
  
“Er. I know that. I think... Widower? Isn't it?”  
  
“Yes. That's it,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“... Unexpected luck of a widowers' son.”  
  
“What?” Sam murmured, “What are you three talking about?”  
  
“Very little,” Frodo sighed, amused.  
  
“Which is what we do when we are content,” Pippin chuckled.  
  
“Talk nonsense with us Sam,” Merry urged happily, “it's very relaxing.”  
  
Sam laughed. He felt so close with all of them, and so happy to be there. And so happy to be alive. For the first time since the previous night, he felt warm.  
  
“I think I'd like that,” Sam said softly.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Frodo eased back, about to ask if anyone wanted more tea when a sound made him sit up and he turned toward the door. He could hear someone outside, rustling in the grass and the sound of a pony snorting. Merry and Pippin were up in an instant, both going to the door and the little window.  
  
“Frodo, hide!” Pippin hissed. Frodo felt his heart begin to hammer.  
  
“Who is it?” he asked and he stared around the hole. There wasn't anywhere to hide. Sam gave him a fear filled look.  
  
“Come here, sir,” he whispered and scrambled over to the bags of clothes, dragging them into a corner. Then he pulled his blankets off and added them to the pile them, creating a mound of cloth. Frodo gave him once last look, then crawled into the pile, burrowing down under the sacks. He could feel Sam moving them around to better hide his shape.  
  
“Oh! It's Fatty!” Merry said.  
  
“He's back already?” Pippin cried.  
  
“Stay here. I'll make sure everything's alright. It could be a trap,” Merry said and Frodo heard the door opened and shut.  
  
A minute passed and Frodo tried to stay still and quiet. When the door opened again he held his breath.  
  
“It's alright! Come on out,” came Merry's voice.  
  
“Sorry! Fatty's voice came, “Sorry! I didn't mean to scare anyone.” Frodo wriggled and popped his head up from under the sacks. Pippin was at the door, going outside and Sam was standing, gripping a ladle and looking very relieved. He sent Frodo a glance and put the ladle down, following Pippin outside. Frodo freeded himself and followed after them.  
  
Fatty was struggling to get down off Thorin, and with Merry's help he managed it. Frodo wasn't sure he'd ever seen Fatty look so exhausted.  
  
“Are you alright? Did you ride to Budgeford and then right back? Fatty! If you did that, that was very silly of you,” Frodo scolded. Fatty shook his head, but didn't answer. Thorin perked up at Frodo's voice and slowly went to him. Frodo was about to reach out and lay a hand on the weary pony's head, when the beast caught sight of Sam, and continued on, bypassing Frodo to go nose at Sam's pockets. Frodo caste an amused look at the animal.  
  
“So are the Bolgers coming?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Did you happen to meet any Bounders?” Pippin added.  
  
“And how did you find us?” Merry asked. Fatty blinked.  
  
“The Gamgees told me where to find you all,” he said. Merry turned on Pippin.  
  
“You told the Gamgees where this hole is?”  
  
“Yes,” Pippin said, stepping back in alarm, “what's wrong with that?”  
  
“Ah, I'm afraid-” Fatty attempted to break in but Merry and Pippin ignored him.  
  
“You put them in danger by telling them!” Merry cried.  
  
“Nonsense,” Pippin snorted, “anyway, what if the Bounders came? They'd need to be able to tell them where to-”  
  
“Don't just-”  
  
“I say-” Fatty tried again.  
  
“That Big Person could have threatened them-”  
  
“You're the one who said Frodo was an ass for not accepting more help and now you-”  
  
“I didn't call him an ass!”  
  
“Really. I need to tell you lads-” Fatty attempted to break in but with less hope in his voice.  
  
“You as good as did.”  
  
“Alright!” Frodo said irritably, “enough! All of you! Let Fatty get a word in. He'd obviously got news.” Fatty sent him a grateful look.  
  
“I’m afraid I failed,” he said unhappily, “I never could get to Budgeford. Wolves stopped me at every turn.”  
  
“What?” Frodo stilled.  
  
“I could barely get into the East Farthing. I tried going north, but they stopped me there too. The only road they let me take was the one back to Hobbiton.”  
  
“How did they stop you?” Merry asked.  
  
“They blocked the road. The first one chased us a short ways. Poor Thorin was shaking and sweating,” Fatty cast an apologetic look at Frodo, “I got him a brush down and some feed at the inn last night, but I haven't really been able to see to him other than that.”  
  
“Oh. Well. It couldn't be helped,” Frodo said, casting a look back to the pony. Sam was holding his head, petting his nose. He pressed his cheek between the pony's eyes and Thorin nuzzled back.  
  
“Don't worry, Mr. Fatty,” Sam said, “Thorin is a very sturdy pony and I'll take care of him.” He turned back to Thorin, “You're alright, aren't you, m'dear?” he cooed. Frodo's eyes widened and he tried to stop himself from stammering out a laugh.  
  
_And here I was thinking 'm'dear' was a special endearment only for me!_ He found himself chuckling, earning him a look from Merry and Pippin. He ignored them. _Well, I suppose I should be happy to be included,_ he thought, watching Sam nuzzle Thorin and kiss his nose.  
  
“I'm afraid that's not all,” Fatty said quietly. They turned back to him. Fatty looked very grave.  
  
“Fatty?”  
  
“This morning, at the inn, I came outside and there was the Big Person. Standing by the fence, just waiting for me,” Fatty sighed and pressed on, “he told me that you made a grave mistake not coming to see him the other day. He told me that there was a very real possibility you were already dead because of that mistake. I tried to make out like I didn't believe him. I told him that you had no interest in talking to someone who was so clearly a rascal, but he saw past all my bluster. He told me, if you were still alive then you must come and see him. Without fail this time. He made it sound like you wouldn't get another chance.”  
  
“He has no right to demand meetings!” Merry growled, “who is he anyway?”  
  
“He told me his name is Volund,” Fatty said quietly, “and that he is from the South. But that's all.”  
  
“Did he say how he's mixed up in all this?” Pippin asked, “and what it is he can offer Frodo? Otherwise, why should he agree to a meeting?”  
  
“I can't meet him anyway,” Frodo said quietly, “I've decided to leave the Shire.” They all went silent. Frodo looked up, meeting each of their eyes. “It isn't safe here for me. And I can't keep drawing danger to my neighbors. They were right to be upset. People have already been hurt. I won't let it go on. So I'm going West, to seek shelter with the Elves. And Sam is coming with me.” They all turned to stare at Sam. Sam gazed back but kept quiet. There was a pause in which Merry and Pippin shared a look, then Merry turned back to Frodo.  
  
“Frodo, we-“  
  
“You don’t understand!” Fatty interrupted. He looked upset. “Frodo, I've been trying to tell you! First- those wolves aren’t going to let you leave the Shire. I’m certain of it! And second. And worse-“ he winced, “The Big Person told me that he's the one who stole that little hobbit child.”  
  
“What!”  
  
“He said he is going to kill Dandy Browntree if you don't meet with him by sunset today.”  
  
Frodo felt his heart thump and he stared. His options were gone now. He could not leave the Shire. He could not run to the Elves. He squared his shoulders and met the eyes of his friends. He wanted to give them courage, even though it felt as if he had just stepped off the side of a cliff and was tumbling down to meet an inevitable fate. Frodo took a breath.  
  
"Then that is what I must do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Third act. Here we go.  
> And as always, thanks for reading.


	18. Love Out in the Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I forgot last time but there is art for this fic- an illustration from last chapter [](https://embed.tumblr.com/embed/post/6woKwvZKNY6_1tr6eAG5Jg/179978204755)[here](https://yambits.tumblr.com/post/179978204755/poisoned-mushrooms-yambits-the-lord-of-the)
> 
> Sorry for the delay in getting the chapter out. But it's a longish chapter at least :) Appreciate you guys and thank you for reading.

“Fatty!” Pippin shouted, “you wait until now to tell us all this?” Fatty turned on the young Took. Pippin let out a nervous laugh putting his hands up, “that was a joke. Remember that we are friends before you throttle me!” Fatty took a breath and sighed.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to such things. And I’m terrible at delivering any kind of bad news.”  
  
“We ought to prepare,” Merry said and turned to Frodo, “We could send you with Tom Cotton. He’s big and imposing.”  
  
“For a hobbit,” Pippin frowned.  
  
"We'll all go with Frodo. What we lack in size we'll make up for in numbers," Fatty said.  
  
“Get your lads together, then," Frodo said quietly, "I’m heading there.”  
  
“Now?” Pippin asked.  
  
“I don’t see that we gain anything by waiting,” Frodo said, “And I want that child back. She must be terrified.”  
  
"You can't just go out there now," Merry cried.  
  
"No?"  
  
“No. Frodo, he’ll have leverage over you, as long as he’s got that child,” Merry said, “You can’t win such an encounter.” Frodo grimaced.  
  
“But I can't stand letting her stay in peril,” he shook his head.  
  
“Better she be in peril then we rush in and doom her. And doom yourself,” Fatty said gently. Frodo sighed.  
  
"We don't know where the child is, we don't know how she's being kept, we don't know if she's alive at all!" Merry shook his head, "No, Frodo. We can't just blunder into this. I'll go out there and have a look. Then we will at least know what we're getting into."  
  
"I suppose that's wise," Frodo said slowly.  
  
"We need more than just the Cottons," Sam murmured. The gentlehobbits turned to him. Sam met their eyes, though Frodo detected a slight flush in his cheeks. "If Mr. Frodo is to face some foreigner, then we need more than just a handful of hobbits. We don't know what he is or who he has helping him. This man told Mr. Merry and Mr. Fatty that he could help Mr. Frodo get out of trouble with these creatures stalking him. Maybe cause he's their boss. If it's wolves and fairies and corpses as well as the foreigner then we had best be ready for anything."  
  
"What do you think we should do?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Well," Sam paused, "not to be speaking out of turn, but I think we need to get some folks together- all the Row folks, hobbits in town, those Tooks maybe, and prepare ourselves best we can."  
  
"You want a council," Pippin said, smiling.  
  
"I guess so,” Sam nodded.  
  
"We would be risking a great number of lives doing that," Frodo said slowly.  
  
"Everyone would know what they were getting into," Merry said gently.  
  
"I only... I only want," Frodo murmured then frowned and shook his head, "It wouldn't work anyway. I’m not very popular at present.”  
  
"Bull," Pippin said.  
  
"Yes, about a dozen and a half hobbits are set against you," Merry said sternly, "and many others are very frightened. That does not mean that everyone hates you."  
  
"Won't you let us try, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked softly. Frodo turned to him.  
  
"Oh. Alright," he said, "but I would like to go home."  
  
"I think it would be easier to gather everyone at Bag End than it would be to bring them out here," Merry nodded.  
  
"What about the Shirriffs?" Fatty murmured.  
  
"We've been keeping an eye on them. They're lazy asses," Merry laughed, "they sit in the Party Field and walk up and down the Row, trying to scare folk, but that's about it. As long as we are careful and use the secret passages I think we will be alright for getting Frodo back inside."  
  
"And as for gathering folk up at the Hill?" Fatty asked.  
  
"Party," Merry said casually.  
  
“What if the Shirriffs want to come?” Pippin asked.  
  
“They're not invited,” Merry sniffed.  
  
"You really think that will work?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Well, yes, I do," Merry said.  
  
"If it's a call to arms on my behalf then the numbers may be small enough not to attract much attention I suppose," Frodo mused.  
  
"Sweet heavens Frodo," Pippin groaned.  
  
"We'll see," Merry huffed.  
  
"I think you'll be surprised, Mr. Frodo," Sam said.  
  
"If you all say so," Frodo sighed.

They packed up what they could into the little cart Merry and Pippin had dragged along with them, and hooked it to Thorin to pull. Frodo climbed in and lay down so that they could pile bags all around and on top of him. The trip back was uneventful and though Frodo had a few heart pounding moments as he climbed out of the cart in the back lower garden and slipped into the hidden door, there was no trouble. Sam and Fatty followed him up through the passage, while Merry and Pippin took the cart and Thorin around to the lane and the more usual entrance.  
  
Frodo emerged in the cold cellar and climbed the few steps up and opened the pantry door, walking into his kitchen. It felt like he'd been away for a month. He breathed in the air and listened to the soft silence of his home. He had missed this place so very much.  
  
Merry entered the kitchen and drew in a breath of surprise.  
  
“Frodo please!” he hissed and pulled Frodo away from the window, “if those Shirriffs see you-“  
  
“I am in my own home! I will do as I please!” Frodo growled.  
  
“No you won’t,” Fatty scolded coming into the kitchen from the pantry, “tell me how getting yourself banished to the lock holes helps this situation?”  
  
“Alright,” Frodo huffed.  
  
“Just leave this to us,” Merry said gently, “prepare yourself however you like. Just do it on the side of Bag End that doesn’t have windows, please.”  
  
“As you like,” Frodo said, and gave them an abashed look, “You are right of course. And thank you.” He took a breath and went for the hallway. “Sam?” He heard Sam following after him.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Frodo waited until he’d traveled down the hallway a pace, then turned.  
  
“I’ll run that bath for you. See if that helps,” he said quietly. Sam blinked and was about to reply, “and don’t fight me on this. Please?” Sam closed his mouth and chuckled.  
  
“I wasn’t going to,” he said. His expression sobered and he added, “I want to be in fit shape to be of a help to you.” Frodo gave him a grim smile and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, leading him down the hall.  
  
“Today has been such a strange day,” Frodo said slowly.  
  
“It has. Us thinking we’d be off to leave the Shire. And now we won’t. And all,” Sam sighed.  
  
“I am sorry I can’t take you to see the Elves,” Frodo said softly and laughed ruefully, raising his eyes to meet Sam’s. He expected Sam to smile and say something light and cheerful. But Sam only studied him, his eyes thoughtful. Frodo drew in a breath. He knew Sam could read him better than most hobbits, even better than his friends maybe. And in the past, if Frodo spoke lightly to hide worry or fear, then Sam would go along with his talk, except perhaps for a lingering look or a slight pause. It was properly hobbity and just good manners in any case. But now Sam wasn’t doing what was expected.  
  
_He can see how much this pains me,_ Frodo thought. Sam drew close and took Frodo’s hand in his own.  
  
“Well now,” Sam said quietly, “seems it weren’t just me looking foreword to that.” Frodo let out a breath. _  
  
I can be honest with him,_ he thought.  
  
“I wanted to show them to you,” he said and allowed the pain to come through in his voice. “It was wonderful when Bilbo took me to see them. It meant so very much to me. I wanted to give that to you. Something beautiful that you could look back on.”  
  
“Now Mr. Frodo,” Sam breathed, “you know you don’t have to promise me the World. Besides, giving me beautiful things to look back on- you already done that.” Frodo stilled and gazed at him. There was a gentle longing in Sam’s face as he reached up and let his knuckles brush fondly against Frodo’s cheek.  
  
_Oh I can’t go on like this,_ Frodo thought, caught in Sam’s eyes, _I want to kiss him. I want to press him to the closest wall and-_  
  
“Well, I’m off!” Fatty cried, breezing into the hall and heading down toward the front door. Sam snatched his hand away, and Frodo stepped in front, feeling oddly protective of Sam suddenly.  
  
“Where are you going now?” he asked. Fatty glanced back.  
  
“I’m going to get the Cottons and any hobbits they think can be trusted. Want to come, Sam?”  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t feel well just yet, Mr. Fatty, I’m sorry,” Sam said.  
  
“Not at all. Recover your strength dear chap. I’ll be back before too long,” Fatty waved as he slipped out the green door.  
  
Frodo let out a breath, then turned and went down the hall, his heart hammering. Sam following him, making a short detour at one of the guest rooms to collect his clothes bag.  
  
It took a few minutes to pump water into the copper and Sam helped to light the copper fire. Bag End had the luxury of a spigot that could run hot water from the copper directly into the tub and a drain in the tub that carried the water out of the smial and to a waiting hold. Frodo gave Sam towels and cloths and then left him to it. He went down to the library then and tried to make himself think of what he should do.  
  
_I should be thinking up strategies for dealing with this man, but all I want to think about is Sam,_ Frodo sighed and let his eyes close. He wanted to linger with Sam by the fire, and make him piping hot soups and warm drinks. Maybe when it got dark they could sit in the library together with a blazing fire and Frodo would make that alcoholic hot chocolate he'd made for Pippin. He'd never made such a drink for Sam. And maybe he could find out if that kiss Sam had asked for was just a one off thing borne from fear and a need for comfort or if it meant anything more.  
  
_It was so wonderful to fall asleep with him in my arms,_ Frodo thought. _And that kiss! It only gave me a taste but it was glorious._ He had paused during the kiss and looked into Sam’s face and a revelation had taken him.  
  
_I am in love._  
  
And that revelation eased the tight hold he’d kept on himself, the hold that pressed down his desires. And he desired Sam.  
  
"Well, I won't be spending my evening with Sam," he hissed to himself, "I'll be standing in the cold with some criminal Big Person trying to keep him from murdering me and my friends. So stop this nonsense." He frowned and shook his head, pained. _No_ , he thought, _I won't stop thinking about Sam. I may be going to a very dark fate tonight and it's love that will give me the strength to go out there._  
  
And strength to face what would come. Because despite his brave front, some part of him had realized that leaving the Shire and seeking the Elves was probably the only chance he had to live much longer. If the Big Person didn’t kill him then the creatures would have him. They had come so close last night. They would be back.  
  
Frodo examined his fear, then carefully put it away. He’d accepted it. And he would do his best, and defend his loved ones. That was really all that he could do, after all.  
  
In the meantime, he would think about love.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Frodo walked slowly back down the hall. He wanted to talk to Merry. Merry was so kind and understanding and he trusted him so. Besides, he thought Merry might just be able to help him sort through some of his anxieties when it came to Sam. He spotted Merry in the kitchen, finishing a hasty second breakfast. He waited while Merry put his dishes away, trading jabs with Pippin, who was cooking more breakfast for the rest of them. He caught Merry’s eyes and gestured for him to come out into the hall. Merry slipped away, joining him .  
  
“Hullo Frodo.”  
  
“I know you are off to the Three Farthings Stone, but before you go, can we talk? In private?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Of course,” Merry said and followed Frodo down to the third guest room. They stepped inside and Frodo closed the door.  
  
“I think I'm in need of advice,” came Frodo's voice. Merry took a seat on the bench at the foot of the bed.  
  
“You want my advice?” he asked. Frodo chuckled and took a seat beside him.  
  
“Is that so unlikely?”  
  
“Alright,” Merry said, “how can I help?”  
  
“Well,” Frodo said, “you were right, you know.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“About me and Sam,” Frodo said very slowly, “caring for one another. Having feelings for one another.” Merry blinked.  
  
“Both of you? Then, Sam has... said something?” he asked. Frodo shook his head slowly.  
  
“Not exactly. We,” he paused, a knot in his throat, “we shared a kiss. Sam asked for it. But we didn’t really... that is, we didn't speak on it over much. Sam just said that he would like it and I said the same.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“So, I wonder,” Frodo said quietly, “I wonder how do you think I should handle such a thing?” Merry was quiet a moment, his expression showing how deeply he was considering the question.  
  
“I don’t suppose,” he said slowly, “that you could just go to him and tell him what you feel for him?”  
  
“Be that direct with him?”  
  
“You think he wouldn't like directness?” Merry asked. Frodo shrugged.  
  
“I don't know. I'm very unsure of what he expects from me. And I don't even know if he has those types of feelings for me.”  
  
“He asked for a kiss, Frodo,” Merry said, “that seems like he has more than just friendly feelings for you.”  
  
“For all I know it was very innocent thing to him,” Frodo shook his head.  
  
“This was a kiss on the lips, wasn't it?” Merry frowned.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“With tongue?”  
  
“Well. Yes.”  
  
“He'd have to be awfully innocent to think it was just some amiability. I mean, I don't know the Shire all that well, but I thought even here...”  
  
“As far as I know a kiss like that means the same here as it does in Buckland.”  
  
“Then congratulations, I believe you have shared an unchaste kiss with your gardener,” Merry chuckled and Frodo sent him a cool glance. “Alright, so he said he asked for it because it was something he wanted?” Frodo nodded.  
  
“Even if it was more than friends might do, I don’t know what it meant to him. If anything.”  
  
“I think you are just being stubborn, cousin. It sounds very much like you would not be presuming if you made some kind of advance.”  
  
“I just want to be careful with this. With him,” Frodo said tightly.  
  
“I know,” Merry sighed. “So, what do you want to do?” he asked slowly.  
  
“Do?”  
  
“Yes. Do you want to pursue a relationship with him? Or are you not looking for something so serious?”  
  
“I want a relationship,” he sighed and rubbed his face, his voice slightly sullen, “I have a relationship with him, just not the type of relationship where we might...”  
  
“Get in bed together?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So you want a relationship like that?”  
  
“Yes. If he were to be open to such things. And if the rest of the village wouldn’t torture him over it. And if I could ever have peace in my life again," Frodo sighed, “And if I can get over my own nerves.” Merry smiled and shook his head.  
  
“Frodo,” he said gently, “have you ever laid with a lad?” Frodo looked up at him, startled.  
  
“Merry.”  
  
“I'm not trying to pry,” Merry held up his hands, “well, maybe I am. But I'm trying to help!” Frodo felt his cheeks go hot. “Tell me off if you need to. I know, it's none of my business.”  
  
“It's alright,” Frodo sighed, “I asked you for advice after all.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said dropping his gaze, “I have. With a few lads in fact.”  
  
“Ah,” Merry said, apparently not knowing what else to say. Frodo sent him a suspicious look.  
  
“Don't talk on this with anyone,” he said in a low voice.  
  
“I won't,” Merry breathed. He paused, “So, was it nice?” Frodo closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
“It ranged from a few uncomfortable experiences to some awkwardness and then times that were quite a lot of fun.”  
  
“I see,” Merry mused, “I'm glad that some of it was fun. But none of it was wonderful?”  
  
“It was wonderful. Those times taught me a number of things and the lads were good and sweet to me. But they lived far away. And some weren't in a position to be open about such things. So I never got to know them very well and never developed love for any of them.”  
  
“Ah,” Merry nodded, “But that's not the case with Sam.”  
  
“No. Sam's very different,” Frodo said quietly. Merry was silent, pondering.  
  
“Take a chance with it,” he said finally.  
  
“You think so?”  
  
“Don't you want to?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said, his tone going quiet and thoughtful, “but it is a very great chance to take.”  
  
“Is it really such a great chance to take? Would he really be angry or upset with you for asking? Even if he were to be, you have dealt with an angry and upset Sam now and come out the other side.”  
  
“That was a very unpleasant thing,” Frodo said. Merry chuckled.  
  
“I hate to break it to you Frodo, but if you pursue a relationship with him you may just possibly have to face such things again.”  
  
“I know,” Frodo smiled, “Despite my best intentions, I’ll be thoughtless and horrible to him, again some day,” he sighed, “At least I know now he’ll put me in my place.”  
  
“You’re not thoughtless, Frodo,” Merry said gently, “you might act that way sometimes. But even then, it’s rare.”  
  
“I'm not sure I believe that. You are too kind.”  
  
“Here now,” Merry put a hand on his shoulder, “you are a good hobbit. And very much worthy of love.”  
  
“Merry,” Frodo murmured, a little surprised at his cousin's sudden seriousness. Merry peered at him anxiously. Frodo took a breath and pulled his cousin into a hug. They paused a moment, then drew apart.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“Yes. Thank you,” Frodo said.  
  
“Don’t be afraid, hey? He loves you,” Merry added. Frodo smiled and dropped his eyes.  
  
“I think it all comes down to a fear of changing things so.”  
  
“Well. Things are always changing. It's a new world out there.”  
  
“Yes. And that world is getting darker,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Then gather love against that darkness,” Merry said quietly, “that's my advice.”  
  
“I think that is good advice.”

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Frodo knocked at the bathsmial door.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
He opened the door just a bit and smiled at Sam.  
  
"May I get you anything?" he asked from the hallway, “tea? Or something to eat? It is a bit past second breakfast. And Pippin is in there cooking.”  
  
"Eat in the tub?" Sam asked. Frodo laughed.  
  
"Why not? I've been known to," he said.  
  
"Oh well," Sam dithered a moment, "yes. I suppose I am a bit hungry."  
  
"Good. I'll be back in a moment," he said. A few minutes later, he brought a little tray down the hall and went into the bathsmial, setting the tray down on the stool by the tub.  
  
"Nothing fancy, I'm afraid, but Pippin does very good eggs," Frodo said. Sam peeked at the tray, leaning over the tub's side.  
  
"Thank you. I'm sure it's very fine," he said. Frodo nodded and went to the copper, drawing up a pail. “And thank you for bringing it.”  
  
"You're welcome," Frodo said, taking the steaming pail and going to the door, "enjoy your bath,” he paused adding, “after you are finished, come to the library, would you? I’ll have the fire going. And I’d like to sit with you for a bit. We could talk if you like.”  
  
“Yes, I’d like that,” Sam said. Frodo nodded and went out into the hall, closing the door. He went carefully down to his own room. He hesitated a moment then set the heavy pail down and peered in, wary since there was a large window in his room, even if it did only look out into the garden. There was no one about fortunately. Frodo went in and quickly drew the thick curtains.  
  
Satisfied that that he was hidden from view, Frodo brought the pail in and poured some of the warm water into his wash stand.  
  
It was such a relief to take a wash. He pressed a warm wet cloth to his face and sighed, before undressing and scrubbing himself down properly, lathering the cloth with his finest milk soap, the kind that made his skin feel exceptionally soft. He had to change the water twice just for washing and then again to wash his hair and foothair. The two nights in the forest and especially the trek into the swampy wood had left him grimy and taken a toll besides.  
  
When he was clean and feeling much fresher, Frodo went to his wardrobe and drew out a pair of comfortable brown trousers, small clothes, a soft undershirt, and a white cambric shirt. It was a little less formal dress than he might otherwise wear when he had guests and especially when he would be meeting with hobbits of the community, but he had other plans before that meeting.  
  
Frodo dressed and paused as he buttoned his shirt, glancing at the fire place. Slowly, he went to it and crouched down in front of the grate. He took a breath and built a fire.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

In the library, Frodo lit lanterns on either side of the sofa and another oil lamp on the table, so that the room was filled with warm light. A fire crackled in the hearth, and he’d brought fresh blankets from the trunk in the linen cupboard, thick warm throws that he used in the winter. They smelled of the sweet herbs that Sam would lay down in the trunk each spring to keep the bugs away.  
  
On the table was his silver tea tray, soft steam rising from the lip of the tea pot.  
  
Sam entered the library, and Frodo turned to greet him.  
  
“Would you close the door?” Frodo asked lightly, “the room will be warmer if we don’t let all the heat escape into the rest of the smial.” It was true, but Sam still sent him a keen look, before doing as he was asked. Frodo watched him, trying to keep a blush out of his cheeks.  
  
Sam’s hair was damp and drawn up into tight ringlets, rather than his more usual relaxed curls. He was dressed in a soft yellow woven shirt that came out when the weather turned cold. Frodo gave into his urge to stare a little. Though the shirt was thick, it clung to Sam's form, showing the shape of his chest, the curve of his back and the soft padding at his stomach. _What a handsome hobbit he is_ , Frodo thought.  
  
Sam sat down beside him on the sofa and moved close, putting his arm around Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo felt a rush of warmth at the gesture and leaned in to Sam’s embrace.  
  
“You got a wash too,” Sam said.  
  
“I did. I feel so much better for it.”  
  
“And I as well. Thank you for lending me your tub,” Sam said with cheer in his voice.  
  
“Do you feel better? Less cold I mean.”  
  
“I do. The cold is beat back a bit. And I can see everything alright now.”  
  
“You couldn’t see?” Frodo turned to look into his face.  
  
“I could see, but it was like looking through a veil. Spots and mist hanging in front of my eyes. It was fair bad when I first woke, but it’s faded since,” he took a breath, “And every time you touched me, it would clear or at least fade back a might. I don’t know why. The Elf drought did the same too.”  
  
“Curious,” Frodo murmured. Sam nodded.  
  
“But having you close drove the worst of the foulness away.” Frodo turned looking into his face.  
  
“And now, my dear?”  
  
“Now, the world is bright and warm. And I can see everything quite clear,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“I am so glad. I wish I could keep all such foulness from you,” Frodo sighed. Sam’s embrace tightened and he bowed his head, letting his cheek rest on Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo kissed his hair and returned the embrace, stroking the back of his neck.  
  
_It would be easy to just let my touches grow bolder and bolder until it was undeniable what was happening. He would respond, I think. He’s already responding. But I don’t want to just fall into this. When I touch him intimately I want him to know what’s in my heart, and how seriously I take this. Sam needs my words and I won’t deny him._  
  
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Sam asked. Frodo smiled. He might not have said outright that he had something on his mind, but his gentle suggestions that they talk by the fire, his request to close the door and all the care he’d taken to make the room cozy had told Sam all he’d needed to know. Frodo drew in a breath. He could do this. He wanted to do this, and any lingering fear of changing things was too small and petty to keep him from telling Sam all of what he felt.  
  
“Could we talk a bit about last night?” Frodo asked. Sam’s eyes softened.  
  
“Aye,” he said, “what about?”  
  
“Some things changed between us, didn’t they?” Frodo said quietly. Sam nodded.  
  
"I think maybe I stepped out a bit. But I can't be very sorry over it. It's so dear to me. I just hope you don't think badly of me. I know you go along with things to make me happy, but I never meant to take advantage of your kindness." Frodo smiled.  
  
"You didn't. Please don't be troubled," he said, "and I don't think badly of you at all."  
  
"Thank you. It's a bit of a relief to hear you say so," Sam sighed, "It was important to me. Last night."  
  
"It was important to me too," Frodo said, and added quietly, "was there a part in particular that was important to you?" Sam's cheeks pinked up.  
  
"The kissing," he whispered.  
  
"Oh," Frodo said trying to keep his voice neutral, “It was nice, wasn't it?"  
  
"It was," Sam said slowly, "I like kissing. And it was best kiss I've ever had."  
  
"Oh well," Frodo laughed a little, "I'm flattered."  
  
"On account of it was with someone who I love," Sam said softly. Frodo felt the breath freeze within him as Sam's eyes locked with his, "someone who I love with all my heart." _  
  
Oh how did this happen?_ Frodo thought even as elation hit him hard at Sam’s words, _here I was trying to gently lead into my own deep feelings the way a gentlehobbit does and now... He feels... is he saying what I think he’s saying?_  
  
"Sam," he breathed and reached out for his hand, "my darling Sam." Sam was shaking and Frodo took his hand between his own, and kissed it.  
  
"I wanted you to know," Sam sniffed, "I wanted to explain it last night, what I was feeling, but I could only go so far all at once. And being so sick and cold. And now you're to go off tonight, and I don't know what might happen. I'm not sure of anything anymore. Just how much I love you. And how I need to see you safe."  
  
_Of course,_ Frodo thought, _he knows as well as I that we may be running out of time. He also can’t bear for us to go on like this._  
  
"And I you," Frodo heard his voice catch, "and... oh dearest. My dearest." he was too overcome to make proper sense but he would try.  
  
"I still haven't explained it all that well," Sam laughed even as he brushed a tear away, "and I'd like to afore you go speaking your piece, cause I want you to know all of it. Outright." Frodo sat up a little.  
  
"Very well," he managed. Sam paused, gathering himself before speaking, his voice low and gentle.  
  
“I been doing a fair amount of thinking these past days, about what I feel for you. I knew a long time now that I love you, and even that it was a deep kind of love, so that I would follow after you. But I started to see that there’s more to it even than that. I’ve been feeling things, when I look at you. I told you last night that I wanted to kiss you, but I also wanted more than that,” he quieted, “I wanted to love you the way a courting couple might love one another on festival night," he said, stoutly meeting Frodo's eyes, "or," his voice softened, "or maybe more like a wedded couple. Slow and sweet, on account of them knowing each other so well and loving for some time." He dropped his eyes, "I know it's moonshine. But it's what’s in me. There’s times I just get so full of that want and that love.”  
  
"Oh,” Frodo swallowed hard, his heart bursting.  
  
"Am I aught but a fool?"  
  
"No, my darling," Frodo said gently.  
  
"Eh. I knew you'd be kind about it," Sam said, "but don't humor your Sam about this. It's too important to him."  
  
“My dear, you’ve no idea,” Frodo said against a welling of feeling, “I want those things too.” Sam's eyes fixed him, wide.  
  
“You know what I’m saying don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, Sam,” Frodo laughed so that he wouldn’t cry.  
  
“And you really do want me? In your bed?” Sam whispered. Frodo went quiet and nodded, letting his gaze lower to their clasped hands.  
  
“There have been times that I looked at you with lust in my heart,” Frodo whispered, “and I would scold myself so.”  
  
“Oh. Don’t,” Sam murmured. Frodo looked up again.  
  
“I want you in my bed, Sam. I want you in my life. You are already in my heart.”  
  
“And you in mine,” Sam said solemnly. Something inside Frodo eased then as he gazed at Sam. Sam smiled at him. “And if I had... pressed you back last night and asked to couple with you, then would you...?”  
  
“I would have coupled with you.”  
  
“Glory,” Sam hissed, “if only I’d had the courage!” Frodo laughed.  
  
“I didn’t have the courage either. And anyway, you were quite sick last night.”  
  
“Making love warms a body as good as anything I know,” Sam sighed.  
  
“Oh. Quite. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it, then,” Frodo said lightly and Sam laughed. Frodo sobered a bit, adding, “Sam, may I speak my piece?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam held his hand, rubbing it slowly as he gazed into his face. Frodo tried to focus on what he wanted to say, for it was so important to him, but a slowly build of warmth and euphoria threatened to sweep away his wits. Still, he would try, for Sam needed this, as much as he.  
  
“You know, I asked you in here to try and tell you what I’ve been feeling as well,” Frodo said, his voice growing more confidant as he spoke, “for much the same reasons- I feel as if I’m about to go and do something dangerous, and that my danger keeps growing. So that I wonder if I am running out of time. And then, I felt that we crossed some boundary between us yesterday. Not just the kiss. We spoke to one another as partners. And then, you defended me at the risk of death or worse, and I did the same for you. I am afraid that after such things I can’t go back to thinking of you as only Sam from down the lane who tends my garden.  
  
“I’ve been blind to the love between us, though I know it has been there for some years. And now that I’ve let myself feel those things, and examined those feelings, I’ve come to understand that I am very much in love with you. I cannot believe my good fortune that you return those feelings. If there were not such great danger around us now then I would be in perfect happiness.” Sam grasped his hand during this, tears rolling down his cheeks. Frodo pulled him close and they looked into each other’s faces. “You are so good to me and such a wonderful hobbit. I want nothing more than to cherish you and see you happy, Samwise Gamgee, love of my heart.”  
  
“Oh Frodo,” Sam murmured. Frodo smiled, deeper joy in his heart than he’d ever felt, and touched his forehead to Sam’s. They stayed like that for some time.  
  
After a while of basking in the warmth between them, and letting their feeling quiet, Sam tilted his head up, catching Frodo's eye. Frodo made a soft questioning noise. Sam leaned in, lifting his face up. Frodo met him, and just that easy they were kissing once more.  
  
It was such an exhilarating joy to kiss Sam, Frodo reflected as he sat back, drawing quick breaths. Sam's cheeks had pinked up, but his eyes were bright and he looked so eager that it sent a thrill through him. He thought a moment, then lay back, tugging Sam down with him. Sam went, a tinge of shyness in his expression, but still very eager. Sam's weight pressing down on him felt remarkably good. They slipped back into their kiss, and Frodo's thoughts slowed, his attention entirely focused on the sensations, the warm wetness of Sam's mouth, and the ticklish slide of lips and tongue.  
  
Sam broke away and put his head against Frodo's shoulder, panting.  
  
“Are you alright?” Frodo curled around him, shifting them so that he could look into Sam's face. Sam nodded and clung to him.  
  
“A little dizzy,” he whispered. Frodo nuzzled him and lay a few kisses against his cheeks.  
  
“Do you want more?” Frodo whispered to him. Sam peered at him, and then nodded. He reached up and let his fingers trace along Frodo's cheek.  
  
“Tis like a dream,” he said softly. Frodo smiled at him, then dipped close again to lay a line a kisses along Sam's neck. He smelled like the sweet almond soap that Frodo kept at his tub, and it had never smelled better. Sam clutched at him and murmured soft wordless happy sounds. Frodo smiled at the sounds and let his hands draw up to the buttons at Sam's throat. He drew back and looked into Sam's face, only to find wonder in his eyes.  
  
Greatly daring, he unbuttoned the top button, then the next, until Sam's over shirt was open. He wore an undershirt, but even so, there was quite a bit more skin to explore. Gently, Frodo curled close again and began to kiss along his collarbone, letting his hands trace down to Sam's chest, stroking him through his shirt. Sam gasped a little and squirmed. After taking his fill there, Frodo moved up to Sam's face. Sam was flushed and watching him with dark eyes. Frodo cradled his cheeks.  
  
“Still doing alright?” Frodo asked.  
  
“I'm very well, thank you,” Sam said. Frodo snorted at the unexpectedly polite answer and Sam laughed pulling him closer. Frodo smiled and traced the line of Sam’s ear, and watched Sam’s eyes slip shut. He leaned in and kissed the same line, breathing into the shell of his ear. As he did he slipped his hand under Sam’s shirt and stroked his skin, moving up to trace through the soft tuft of hair at the center of his chest. Sam’s chest rose and fell in short excited breaths and Frodo hummed softly. Sam's panting and squirming was having an effect. Frodo felt his own blood run hot and his prick harden. He growled softly and let himself taste the soft skin of Sam’s ear, lapping into the sensitive shell, and moved his hand to rub his thumb over a nipple before catching it and rolling it gently between his fingers. They squirmed against one another like this for a time until Sam let out a gasp, shivering so hard that Frodo felt it.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Naught but you’ve got me harder than the wood out of that old oak tree back of the orchard," Sam said tightly. Frodo almost laughed at the description, though it sent a bolt of heat between his legs.  
  
“Is that what that is? Your little oak tree?” he smiled.   
  
“Ah... um,” Sam blushed up to his ears. Frodo chuckled and leaned in breathing into his ear, “I’ve my own sapling,” he whispered and shifted, pressing his length against the hot place between Sam’s legs. Sam drew in a breath.  
  
“A might more than a sapling,” he gasped and rocked against Frodo’s hips, “Stars that feels good.”  
  
“That’s it,” Frodo breathed excited at the feeling of Sam frotting against him, “feel how much I want you?” Sam worked them together for a bit. The cloth between them limited some of the sensation but it was enough to stoke the delicious heat growing between them. Sam paused, angling his hips so that he delivered a firm blessed pressure just where Frodo wanted it most. He looked up into Frodo’s face, drawing quick breaths.  
  
“I never felt nothing like this,” he said. Frodo smiled.  
  
“Have you ever done this with a lad?” he asked gently. Sam stilled, blinking at him, pausing. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that,” Frodo added.  
  
“Nay, I’m guessing it’s fair plain I haven’t.”  
  
Frodo felt such a tenderness then, and he reached up to cup Sam’s cheek. They gazed at one another for a long moment.  
  
“Well, it seems that you like it well enough,” Frodo said with a smile. Sam chuckled.  
  
“That I do,” he said and his hips lifted, making Frodo wince.  
  
“What should,” Sam gulped, “What should we do now?” Frodo felt his heart pick up. He sat up and took a few deep breaths.  
  
“Well,” he said slowly, “if you truly regret not laying with me last night, then perhaps, now?” Sam lifted his gaze and took a nervous breath.  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“I would usually say, there is no rush, but I think we both know that’s not true.” Sam's eyes softened and he paused, reaching for Frodo’s hand. They were quiet a moment and Sam let a few tears fall.  
  
“Aye,” Sam said at last.  
  
“We could go to my room,” Frodo said gently, “do this properly. I drew all the curtains earlier and laid a fire. It should be nicely warm in there by now.” Sam blinked at him.  
  
“You built a fire? Then you guessed we might..?”  
  
“I hoped,” Frodo said quietly, “I didn’t mean to presume. But I did hope.”  
  
“I’d kiss you, but then we might get lost again. And I do want to go to your room,” Sam said. Frodo kissed his hand.  
  
“Come along then, my dear.”  
  
They rose, and Frodo led him across the hall and down to his room, opening the door to let Sam in and closing it silently behind them. The room was warm and dim, most of the light coming from the fire, though a bit of light came through the edges of the curtains, heavy thick winter drapes that kept the chill air sealed around the window.  
  
Frodo led Sam to the bed, holding his hand, and they paused together at the bedside.  
  
“You deserve a long and careful courtship,” Frodo sighed, “and if I had the time then giving you such would be a joy.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said and clasped his hand, rubbing it.  
  
“I’m so sorry it’s like this. Joy surrounded by darkness and fear.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Sam stepped close and kissed his forehead, “please don’t be sorry. I love this so. There’s naught we can do to change the world, but here between us we can find peace. A space all apart from the hard bitterness. Just me and you. I love that we have this.”  
  
“Me too,” Frodo pressed close, very aware of how good and warm Sam felt, “let me make love to you?”  
  
“Please,” Sam gasped softly. Frodo pulled the blankets back and they climbed into bed together. Frodo unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his undershirt off, tossing them into the reading chair near his desk. He turned and saw Sam do much the same, though he folded his shirts and put them on the table.  
  
“What should we do?” Frodo asked him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Sam’s eyes lowered, shy.  
  
“I’m a little unsure, if you understand.”  
  
“Well, you seemed to like what we were doing in the library,” Frodo whispered to him, “we could do a bit more of that? With fewer clothes.” Sam’s expression brightened and he nodded, reaching down to untie his britches. Frodo likewise, unbuttoned his own trousers and slid out of them, along with his small clothes. While Sam, dithered with his own under garments Frodo rolled over and opened his beside drawer, feeling for his oil. By the time he'd found it and turned back Sam was seated, altogether naked and flushed. Frodo was caught by the sight for a moment. Sam quivered at his gaze.  
  
"Aye?"  
  
“You are very lovely,” Frodo said gently. Sam's nervous look shifted into delight.  
  
“Thank you,” he said and let his eyes move down Frodo's body, “and you.” Frodo giggled, despite himself, and crawled back to Sam's side. He tried to make himself act like a mature worldly hobbit, but he was giddy and suddenly felt like a trysting tween. It seemed that Sam was just as giddy and excited, for he giggled as well, though there was a heat in his expression that Frodo had never seen, and Sam's cock bobbed as he moved, hard between his legs.  
  
“So. I think, lay down?” Frodo said. Sam settled himself, carefully, and looked up, expectant. Frodo took a breath and climbed onto him, straddling his legs. Sam blinked and looked down watching Frodo uncork the little bottle and pour a thin stream of oil into his hand.  
  
“Ah. To ease the movement?” he said.  
  
“That's right,” Frodo smiled at him, “ever used oil to stroke yourself?”  
  
“Not oil, no,” Sam said slowly, “but slick soap and the like. That's nice.”  
  
“Mm,” Frodo agreed and reach down, gripping Sam's prick. Sam drew in a breath of pleasure and quivered beneath him. “This is what oil feels like,” he said softly. Sam panted, beyond being able to answer. Frodo gazed down at him, loving that he could draw those beautiful sounds from Sam, loving that he was allowed to stroke his cock and love him like this. He poured more oil into his hands and moved down, shifting Sam's legs apart so that he could rub the lightly furred sac between his legs. Sam reached down and stroked his arms.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Give me a bit of that oil,” he breathed. Frodo smiled and poured a bit into Sam's hand. Sam rubbed it, warming it between his palms and reached for Frodo's prick, lying hot and stiff against Sam's thigh. Frodo let his eyes slip shut as Sam's warm hand closed around him.  
  
“Oh, darling,” he whispered, “that's wonderful.” Sam's fist tightened and Frodo lost himself in the motion of Sam's hand on him and his hand on Sam. Time slipped passed, and their panting was growing quicker. Frodo opened his eyes, slowing his motions before easing away. Sam made a soft disappointed sound and Frodo smiled down at him, pouring more oil into his hand.  
  
Quickly, he reapplied additional oil to Sam's prick and put a bit on his belly and hips, then applied the same to himself. The oil bottle was empty now, so he lay it down, then paused as he gazed at Sam. Sam was looking at him as if he were the sun, the moon and the stars all at once. Frodo lowered himself over Sam's body, fitting them together, and gazed into his face. Sam smiled and curled his arms around Frodo's back, holding him in place. Frodo thought of saying something, but really, he'd said all he needed to. So after one gentle kiss, he began to move.  
  
As first their movements were slow, but that wasn't enough after they'd had hands on their pricks, so Frodo rose up on his arms, and pressed their hips tight as they rubbed. He was so caught up in what was happening between their legs that he over balanced as Sam thrust and he slipped forward, bumping awkwardly into the headboard. He let out a squeak of pain and surprise and, as they were so well lubricated, would have slipped off Sam entirely, if Sam had not caught him and pulled him back.  
  
“Alright?” Sam asked.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo panted and fit himself against Sam's body once more, feeling all that warm skin against his own. He looked into Sam's face and began to move, thrusting against him. Sam's eyes widened and his grip tightened. That was better.  
  
“Good?” Frodo gasped. Sam nodded and his hands moved down to clutch tight at his bottom. Frodo moaned, feeling Sam's hands there, and thought for a moment about teaching Sam to finger him, but no. This was to be something simple and intimate, where they would look into each other's faces, and forget anything but the simple instinctual bliss of rutting into each other's warmth.  
  
They were both so worked up that it didn't last long, especially once Sam reached down and clasped their prongs in his fist. Frodo reached down as well, helping to make a tight oiled channel for them both to thrust into. Sam cried out first and Frodo watched his face as bliss took him. Frodo came not long after, crying and shuddering as his movements quickened and then held. He put his face into the hollow of Sam's neck and gasped, spurting in soft pats against Sam's body. Pleasure seared up from between his legs and he keened as his body throbbed. As it ebbed, Frodo consciously opened his eyes seeking Sam's face, anticipating the rush of feeling that hit him when he came with a partner like this. He found that Sam was watching him with an awestruck tender look, which only deepened the swell of love, until Frodo felt dizzy with it.   
  
“Sam,” he sighed, weak and boneless. Sam twisted slightly, so that Frodo could slide down at his side. They panted, still gazing at one another, catching their breath.  
  
“I think,” Frodo said after a few minutes of lying in one another's arms, “that was more, young lovers on festival night, rather than the slow sweet love of a well accustomed couple.” Sam snorted into his bare shoulder.  
  
“We’ll have to work up to that.”  
  
"I think that is a lovely-"  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
“Frodo?” It was Pippin. Frodo almost hissed a curse, but restrained himself.  
  
“Yes Pippin?”  
  
“I’m making luncheon for the council. What do you think everyone will want?” The young hobbit's voice came. Frodo sighed.  
  
“I have no preference. You decide," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Sorry, Sam." Sam grinned at him, still dazed and kissed his shoulder.  
  
“What are you doing?” Pippin asked.  
  
“None of your business,” Frodo called. He heard Pippin snort.  
  
“Oh that! Well, I guess we haven’t been giving you any time alone lately.”  
  
“Pippin Took! Go away,” Frodo growled. “I’m sure you can make luncheon without me.”  
  
“Alright!” Pippin sulked, “Oh. And Sam’s dad is here.“  
  
“I swear!” Frodo hissed softly, then raised his voice, “are you telling tales?”  
  
“No, Mr. Frodo he’s not,” came Hamfast’s voice. Sam squeaked in alarm and tried in a panic to find his clothes, apparently forgetting that he'd put them on the bedside table.  
  
“Oh!” Frodo cried trying not to sound as panicked as he felt, “Mr. Gamgee! I’ll be right there! Just a moment!”  
  
“No need to trouble yourself, sir. I was just wondering if you knew where my Sam had got off to?”  
  
“Er,” Frodo stammered. Sam sent him a look and shook his head. “No sorry. I’m sure he’s about though.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” the old gardener's voice came.  
  
“Pippin, give Mr. Gamgee tea. I'll be right out,” Frodo called. They cleaned themselves and dressed as silently as they could. Frodo kissed him as Sam buttoned his shirt.  
  
"This is not how I wanted this to go!" he winced, "I wanted to be a proper lover to you after. I'm so sorry!" Sam chuckled.  
  
"It can't be helped now. And don't you be acting like it's all on you," he tried to look stern, but Frodo could see his grin peaking through. "We can be proper and nice and sweet to each other and all that later. I'm just so happy right now I can't hardly bear it." Frodo felt like crying and laughing all at once and he stroked Sam's cheek.  
  
"Me too!" he said. Sam kissed him and then they moved apart, focusing on dressing.  
  
A short time later, Frodo slipped out into the hall, going down to the kitchen. He found Pippin boiling water for tea, but no Mr. Gamgee. He felt a chill.  
  
_If he's gone into the garden he might see Sam leaving by way of my window..._  
  
“Where is Mr. Gamgee?” Frodo asked. Pippin blinked at him.  
  
“Privy,” he said.  
  
“Oh,” Frodo breathed a sigh of relief, walking over to Pippin. “You ass, Pippin!”  
  
“What did I do?”  
  
“For one thing, you accused me of solitary pursuits in front of Mr. Gamgee!”  
  
“No I didn't,” Pippin huffed, “he hadn’t to come down the hall yet. Honestly Frodo. I have some sense.”  
  
“Then use some of it once in a while,” Frodo said before he could think better of it. Pippin sent him a wounded look. “Oh! I’m sorry,” Frodo winced, “That was uncalled for.” Pippin peered at him a moment.  
  
“Its alright. I’ve snapped at people when I’m flustered too.” Frodo snorted and stepped close to ruffle his hair. Pippin added, "Going to tell me what you're flustered about, or was my guess right?" Frodo's smile vanished and he smacked him lightly.  
  
"No to both!" he said. Pippin laughed and swatted him back. 

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Sam had made a hasty exit from Frodo's room once he finished dressing, slipping out the garden window and walked around to Bag End's back door. He entered, banging the door a little, and went down the hallway toward the front.  
  
“Samwise?” came his father's voice from the kitchen.  
  
“Sir?” Sam quickened his pace and went in to find his father at the table, sipping tea with Pippin and Frodo. Frodo was seated in a corner where he wasn't visible from the window. He gave Sam a faint smile as he entered and Sam nodded to him, pleading with himself to stop looking at Frodo.  
  
“Where have you been, boy?” his father scowled.  
  
“Down back of the Hill," Sam said, tearing his eyes away from Frodo to look at his dad, "walking about to see if I could spot any of those Shirriffs.” Sam was desperately hoping he could keep the lie out of his face. He was terrible at lying and his father was very good at seeing past anything he tried. But his father wasn't overly attentive it seemed for he snorted, at the mention of the Shirriffs.  
  
“Those louts- I beg your pardon sirs- those Shirriffs have done nothing but make a mess and a racket and if I was you Mr. Frodo, I'd send them a bill for trashing up the Party Field."   
  
“Along with a complaint to the Mayor about them!” Pippin added.  
  
“We'll see,” Frodo said mildly. Hamfast finished his tea and stood, thanking Frodo and Pippin as he did.  
  
“Come along, boy, Mr. Merry asked if we Gamgees could keep a watch over the lane and stop any folk from coming near enough to Bag End where they might spot Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam said, and followed his father to the door.  
  
“Thank you again, sirs,” Hamfast said politely. Sam nodded to both of them, and ducked outside, closing the kitchen door behind him. Together, they took up a station near the front garden where they could see the full stretch of the lane.  
  
“Sam.”  
  
Sam froze and looked over at his father.  
  
“Yes sir?” Sam asked.  
  
“Come here,” the Gaffer said simply. Sam felt his stomach go cold as he went to sit with the Gaffer on the wall.  
  
"Yes sir?"  
  
"I'm glad to see you back safe, son. Mr. Merry said there was some trouble in the woods?"  
  
"There was, sir. Some creatures tried to get at Mr. Frodo," he said softly.  
  
"Mr. Merry said you saved Mr. Frodo. That was well done."  
  
"Oh!" Sam looked up at him, "I tried to. But I'm not sure how much help I was really. Mr. Merry is just being kind," he sighed, "I think me and Mr. Frodo saved each other."  
  
"Then I'm very glad for that," Hamfast said and put a hand on Sam's shoulder.  
  
"Me too," Sam said.  
  
"You talk to him about his will?" his father asked. Sam blinked. That seemed like it was years ago.  
  
"We settled it all, Dad. Mr. Frodo will change it."  
  
"Good lad," Ham nodded and turned to him. “Samwise?”  
  
“Sir?” Sam asked nervous. His father peered at him, then shook his head.  
  
“Nothing, son. Never mind it. I ask for you to come out here, cause I thought I ought to remind you of a few things, though I don't know if you need it. But here it is: You just remember once this is all done, you're back in the garden, not gallivanting around with Mr. Frodo and his friends on their wild night walks and such. I don’t want you getting used to running about with them, like you were one of them. They are kindhearted hobbits and I don't think they'd be cruel to you, but others would, you getting above yourself. And it wouldn't be right. You just remember that.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam murmured.  
  
“You know, I’d not say a word against the Bagginses but they do make a Gamgee’s life a might thornier. That’s always been so.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said again, dutifully, but felt his voice drop away at the sudden image of Frodo gazing up at him, his eyes lit by firelight.  
  
“They’re not like us Samwise. They’ve their own rules, their own wild ways.” This was such a familiar conversation, but each word felt harder and sharper than the other times he had had this lecture. Perhaps because the other times he hadn’t been thinking on the way it felt when Frodo kissed him. The way it felt to have Frodo’s warm naked skin pressed against his own, nor how it felt when Frodo held him down and thrust against him and panted into the hollow at his neck.  
  
“They’ve their place in this world and we’ve ours. It’s not sense to go getting mixed up things too big for us. We’re Gamgees boy. Our place is with the cabbages and potatoes.” Sam closed his eyes, taking a breath. He needed to say something. “So, there's the reminder and I've done my duty. I will say, you’ve always served him well,” the Gaffer said unexpectedly. Sam blinked and turned to look at his father. “That tis proper. More than that, tis right. Our master, he’s a good sort, good to those as depend on him. You may not see this in Mr. Frodo, most don’t anyways, but Mr. Frodo has some loyalty to this place that is powerful enough to make him defend it, aye maybe even with his life, and that isn’t something so common in a hobbit. We aren’t much for fighting or even protecting. The best that most of us can do is make a living, work the land, and stand against the little trials. But Mr. Frodo isn’t like that; he’s set apart from us in that way too, and if you can help him then you’ve my blessing lad. You follow your Mr. Frodo- he’s a wise and good hobbit and he’ll keep our home looked after.” The Gaffer paused as if just realizing the things he had spoken and cast a frown on his son. Sam stared back silently. “You’ve something between the two of you and I don’t think anyone else can follow him or help him like you can. That’s a responsibility my lad, a job to do, and I’ve a mind to see that you carry it out.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said softly and looked out across the fields bathed in sunlight, “And I mean to.”  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Just,” the old gardener shifted his gaze out into the land below, “just be careful, son.” Sam paused a moment.  
  
“Yes, sir.”

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Frodo was in his old room, now a converted guest room. The closets were still packed with his old things, clothes that didn't fit or old trinkets and things from his childhood and tween years. He hadn't been sure he would find it, but after dragging out a few boxes he'd pulled out a set of leather plated armor. He ran his fingers over it, and sighed.   
  
Bilbo had kept up regular contact with his dwarf friends, either through correspondence, when he could find a passing dwarf headed to Dale or some such place, or more rarely one of his old dwarf friends and a contingent of kin would descend on Bag End for a few weeks. It was during one of these rare visits that Nori brought out a gift for Bilbo's young heir.  
  
“Armor?” Frodo had gasped in elation when he'd opened to box and found a set of leather plates, fitted with iron clasps and delicate dwarven metal work. Nori had chuckled, delighted at Frodo's reaction.  
  
“Not as fine as your uncle's mail shirt, I'm afraid. But serviceable, if I do say so myself. Bilbo wrote that you have his wild streak. So, if you plan to go walking off and getting into scraps like our friend Bilbo, I thought you might need something like this, young hobbit.” Frodo had hugged the old dwarf, even though that was not strictly proper. Dwarves could be stern, but Bilbo's old companions had a very soft spot for Frodo and had delighted in indulging him on their visits. Frodo had been desperate to show his armor off, and when Merry next visited he'd wasted little time in running to his room, strapping on his armor and racing outside where Sam and Merry were playing in the garden.  
  
“Here it is! My dwarvish armor!” Frodo cried. The two younger hobbits had been thoroughly impressed.  
  
“Just like Mr. Bilbo!” Sam breathed.  
  
“Take a swing at me!” Frodo told him. Sam’s eyes rounded.  
  
“I beg your pardon, sir?”  
  
“Hit me! Here,” he smacked his stomach, “you won’t hurt me. Go on.”  
  
“No,” Sam cried.  
  
“I’ll hit you!” Merry bounded foreword and pulled back his fist, smacking it into Frodo’s stomach. Frodo felt a small impact but nothing more. He grinned. Merry let out a whoop and hit him again. Frodo dissolved into giggles.  
  
“Frodo!”  
  
They turned to see Bilbo glowering at them.  
  
“Yes sir?”  
  
“That armor is not a toy,” the old hobbit scolded.  
  
“Ah,” Frodo turned to him and fixed Bilbo with a hard look, “are you telling me you and your dwarf friends never did this with your mail shirt?” Bilbo pursed his lips and glowered, unwilling to answer.  
  
“Cheeky young Baggins,” he groused at last. Frodo let out a peal of laughter. Bilbo turned away and waved his hand in mock disgust, going back inside.  
  
Now, Frodo stood, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked grim dressed like this. Bilbo had been right. The armor wasn't a toy.  
  
“Your dwarf armor,” Sam smiled, entering the room. Frodo turned and felt his spirits lift at Sam's appearance. He lifted his arms showing it off once more.  
  
“It fits; enough anyway. I’ve gained a bit of weight since I last wore it.”  
  
“That’s what the laces are for. I’m sure them dwarves made it so as you could grow into it.”  
  
“I suppose so. Did your father release you?"  
  
"Afraid not. I just got sent in for an errand. I have to go back out. I'm just being slow about it," he smiled. Frodo slid it hand into Sam's.  
  
"Everything alright?"  
  
"Yes," Sam said, his eyes moving down the leather plates. His smile faded. “You going to wear it this evening?” he asked quietly. Frodo nodded.  
  
“If this man is willing to kidnap a child then I wonder what he’s capable of.”  
  
“Just so,” Sam sighed and stepped closer, “I’ll be glad to know you’ve some protection. You’ll just have to mind your sides,” Sam touched the line between plates, slipping his hand down into the space between them. Frodo stilled, feeling Sam’s hand trace upwards. “Maybe we can hide this gap with a cloak.” He chuckled a little, adding, “don’t you go talking to burglars now, Mr. Frodo, and showing them your tender spots.” Sam glanced up at him, eyes sparking. Frodo could only gaze back. He felt a shiver run through him. Sam blinked. “Hey?” he murmured, his voice soft. Frodo met his eyes.  
  
“I will have to be careful,” he took a breath and dropped his eyes, despite his best efforts, “my sides are very sensitive.” Sam drew in a breath and Frodo caught his hand in case he had been about to draw away. He wrenched his gaze back up, meeting Sam’s startled eyes. Sam stared a moment, then pressed closer. He moved his hand up, trailing his fingers along the little gap. Frodo let out a breath and shivered again. Sam’s expression softened.  
  
“Is that nice?” he asked quietly. Frodo nodded. Sam smiled and put his left hand at Frodo’s side as well. Frodo pressed himself to Sam's front.  
  
“Close the door,” he breathed. Sam's eye's widened and he moved back a pace, slipping the door closed, silently, until it latched, “and lock it,” Frodo added. He saw Sam take in a breath, then his hand moved up to the lock and he pressed the rod into the slot in the jam. He turned back to Frodo, stepping close again.  
  
“You want a bit more of your Sam?” he asked softly.  
  
“I do,” Frodo murmured and raised his face, kissing Sam. They drew back after a time and gazed at one another.  
  
“This is so nice,” Sam said quietly. Frodo felt himself smile.  
  
“I only wish we had more time.”  
  
“We've time,” Sam said, his voice low. Frodo let his gaze drop. “Now see here,” Sam said quietly, “that weren’t the last time we’re going to do that. We’re both going to see quite a few more sunrises and sunsets.” Frodo couldn’t answer for a moment, though he opened his mouth to. Sam drew close again and held him. “Trust your Sam.” Frodo lay his head against Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“I’ll always trust my Sam,” he whispered, adding, “I’ve trusted and loved him for years, I trust and love him now, and I’ll go on trusting and loving him always.” Sam looked at him, struck.  
  
“You really mean that,” he murmured. Frodo only gazed at him. “I’m sorry. I know you do. I know you’d not say anything like that without meaning it. It’s just such a powerful thing.” Frodo felt a tremble deep within him.  
  
“That it is,” he agreed.  
  
“It’s the same, for me, you know,” Sam whispered.  
  
“I know.”  
  
They stood together for a moment more, then Sam sighed and drew away.  
  
"I had best go before I get into trouble," he said.   
  
"Tell your father it was my fault if you do," Frodo urged. Sam only smiled at him and then disappeared down the hall. Frodo sighed and turned back to the mirror.  

Frodo unlaced the armor, but kept it laid out and ready for later. Then he went back to exploring Bag End, looking for anything that might be of a help to him. He found himself in his current room, standing over the trunk at the foot of his bed, gazing into it, with all the layers of clutter. He wondered if he could even find the little envelope with Bilbo's old ring if he wanted to, but then a crystal clear memory came to him, of how he had fit the envelope down into a crack between two volumes and he knew then exactly where the ring was. He reached in, but then stopped, conflicted.  
  
On the one hand he was desperate for any tool he might use to keep himself alive and keep his friends alive. And hadn't Bilbo used the ring for the same purpose? It should be alright if he did the same.  
  
But Gandalf had advised against using it at all. Twice. And what if this Man took it from him? That was a very uncomfortable thought, for the ring had been so dear to Bilbo, his chief treasure and memento.  
  
_I would fail him,_ Frodo thought, _I would fail both of them. Gandalf and Bilbo... And yet,_ _what if having the ring and using it is the difference between someone's life and death?_  
  
Frodo frowned and bent, reaching into the trunk for the books and almost shifted them, but before he could set eyes on the envelope he drew back.  
  
Gandalf didn’t give warnings lightly. There had been something behind his words.  
  
_He knew something, or guessed something. Something dangerous?_  Frodo thought slowly.

_"It may have other powers than just making you vanish when you wish to."_  
  
That was what Gandalf had said all those years ago. Frodo shivered. He had never delighted over the little ring’s powers the way Bilbo had. Bilbo had treated it like a party trick, but Frodo, who had spent years at Brandy Hall in a state of near invisibility, didn’t relish the idea of disappearing. The few times Bilbo had disappeared before his eyes, a little flutter of panic had lit through him.  
  
“Frodo?” Pippin stuck his head into the room. Frodo jumped, shaken out of his thoughts.  
  
“Yes, Pippin?”  
  
“Everyone will be here in a few minutes. I've told them to gather in the parlor,” he paused, peering at Frodo, “are you alright?”  
  
“Fine,” Frodo said, trying to stop his heart from pounding. He was seized by such an urge to slam the trunk lid down and hide the contents. But doing that would only make Pippin more curious.  
  
“What are you up to?” Pippin squinted at him.  
  
“Looking for weapons,” Frodo said and finally let himself lean forward and close the lid, “but there isn't anything here that will be of any help to us.”

<>O<>O<>O<>  

The time for the council was almost on them, as the clock ticked closer to one. Sam had been relieved from the watch by his brother and he was back in Bag End, sitting with Frodo in the parlor, the both of them drinking tea. It was the waiting that was the worst, Frodo thought, and was grateful that Sam was there. The activity on the Hill had grown over the last hour. Fatty and Pippin were scrambling around, finding their own armaments, the Gamgees were in and out, helping them and adding to the collection, and also keeping an eye on luncheon. Frodo had fled the scene, wary of being near open doors and settled in the parlor, when Sam had found him, and brought him tea. They'd traded looks and Sam had surreptitiously kissed his hand, but they'd done nothing more. There were too many hobbits bustling around to feel at ease, and even if some of them weren't Sam's siblings and father, this was new territory. So they sat and drank tea, and talked about whatever came to them.   
  
“I wonder what they would think of me?” Frodo sighed, staring up at the portraits of his great aunt and uncle. He smiled ruefully. “I used to sit with Bilbo while we'd read and I would stare up at Bungo and Belladonna and wonder. I could have asked Bilbo, but it seemed like such an odd question. And. Well. I suppose I was a little afraid of the answer.”  
  
“Oh now,” Sam murmured, “didn't they love Mr. Bilbo?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said, his voice barely audible.  
  
“Then I think they'd loved you,” Sam said gently. Frodo took a breath, pausing.  
  
“I suppose so,” Frodo said. He added, “though I and my friends decimated the Old Winyards that Bungo put down.” Sam laughed.  
  
“What's the point of putting wine down if not to be enjoyed by friends and family?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo smiled. He eased and let out a sigh, continuing on quietly, “we hobbits go to such lengths to make ourselves and our friends and our families comfortable and happy. But I used to think that was really the main point of it all.”  
  
“And what do you think now?”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo mused, “I still think providing for loved ones is very important. But I suppose I've started to see that our World is a bigger place than that. And that there is more to look after than comfort.”  
  
“And what else is there?”  
  
“I don't know,” Frodo said slowly, “I think I'm still learning that lesson.” He paused once more and considered Sam. “You've had much the same experience as I have. What do you think? Is there more to life than seeking comfort for yourself and the ones you love?”  
  
“Oh I suppose so,” Sam said, “at least, maybe for those people in Tales. And even for Mr. Bilbo and maybe for you, too. Folks who face danger and things from the Outside can't just think of comfort. They have a job to do. And doing that job seems like it brings good. At least, that's how it was for Mr. Bilbo. He went through some things. But everything turned out much better, him being there.”  
  
“Keep in mind that you heard that tale from Bilbo himself, and he may have exaggerated his good deeds just a bit,” Frodo laughed. Sam shook his head.  
  
“He did some good, Mr. Frodo,” he said stubbornly. Frodo eased.  
  
“I suppose he did,” Frodo laughed lightly, then went on, “But I'm afraid these things aren't only reserved for people in Tales and for Bilbo and for me. I'm afraid you must include yourself. We're all going to have to face things. I only hope that we can do some good.”  
  
“I think we will,” Sam said quietly, “we're going to save Dandy Browntree. We're going to get rid of these creatures and things stalking around here, and make it safe again for our neighbors. We're going to protect our home,” he trailed off for a moment, “maybe that's one of the things that's more important than comfort. Protecting the places and people you love. That's what my dad said you would do,” Sam added. Frodo blinked at him.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Aye. He said, you are a rare hobbit, for there's a strength in you so that you'll defend us.”  
  
“That's very kind, that he believes in me so, but I don't have any idea why he should think such,” Frodo said. Sam shrugged.  
  
“You have defended us. Time and again,” Sam said quietly, “besides, Dad knows you. And he'd talk with Mr. Bilbo a good deal, about you.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Frodo said ruefully. Sam met his eyes.  
  
“Mr. Bilbo didn't know aught about raising a young hobbit. So he'd talk to Dad some. And I heard a bit of their talk. They'd talk on how strong you were.”  
  
“You're pulling my leg.”  
  
“I'm not,” Sam said quietly. He gazed up into Frodo's eyes. “There's a lot of hobbits who believe in you. And quite a number who love you, too.” Frodo felt a flutter of warmth light through him and he moved closer to Sam, curling against his side. Sam took his hand. “I know the people here have been terrible to you. Some of them. And I know you're stronghearted enough that you'd defend this place even though people here are narrow minded asses. But please remember that there are so many others who care deeply for you. You're a part of this place. And a good part.”  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said softly. The sound of the door opening and closing came to them from the hall.  
  
“Frodo?” called Merry.  
  
“Parlor,” Frodo said. Sam pulled away just a bit, but Frodo didn’t draw his hand away. He sent Sam a careful look, but made no other move. Sam gazed at him, his eyes thoughtful. He also did not draw his hand away. Merry entered the parlor and went to sit near the fire, sighing in relief.  
  
“Success?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Yes,” Merry glanced over at him, his smile brightening. “Enough success anyway. But I’ll tell the tale once everyone is here. Fatty says we’re meeting in a few minutes.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“Someone will need to give a description of the creatures,” Merry’s gaze moved to San, “Sam, you’ve seen more of them than any of us. Would you speak?”  
  
“In front of everyone?” Sam asked.  
  
“You don’t want to speak?”  
  
“It’s all a bit above me,” Sam said, “I’ve not the wit for talking in front of a crowd and all.”  
  
“You might fool others with that Samwise,” Frodo said laughed, “but we were just talking philosophy a moment ago. You’re not going to pull the wool over my eyes that easy, dear hobbit.” Sam snorted, but made no attempt to argue. “But if you don’t want to speak, then you don’t need to. I can tell them about the creatures.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam said, “I’d rather you did if it’s all the same.” Frodo smiled at him.  
  
There was a knock at the door and the sound of Fatty going to answer it. Merry rose.  
  
“I’ll bring them in here. You stay please Frodo, just in case there are any Shirriffs on the door step or hovering in the lane.”  
  
“Thank you Merry,” Frodo said, as the sound of hobbit voices reached them from the hall. This time, Frodo let go of Sam’s hand and put a space between them, but he gave Sam a reassuring look.  
  
In very short order, the parlor was filled with hobbits. Frodo rose and went to the parlor entrance, greeting each one who made it past the scrutiny of Merry and Fatty, stationed at the entrance to Bag End. The Cottons were there, Tom, Jolly, Nibs, Nick, Tolman and his brother Will. All the Gamgees of course, plus cousin Halfast, Lily Twofoot and her father, the Widow Grubb and her son Bill, and there was even a contingent from Hobbiton, including Bill Warren,-proprietor of the Dragon and his family, Rollo Bracegirdle, the Harrows- who owned the stationer store, the grocer and his wife, Ginger Goodfoot and her children, and also, Goldie Browntree. Dandy's mother. Frodo froze when he saw her, then went to her, parting the crowd. She stared at him a moment, a few tears fell from her eyes.  
  
“My dear Mrs. Browntree,” Frodo said softly, “I am so sorry.” The widow blinked away her tears and held Frodo's gaze.  
  
“Mr. Baggins, I am sorry too. For I heard what happened. Those folks coming out here. I want you to know, me and my family had nothing to do with that. We would never think to blame you,” she said. Frodo caught his breath.  
  
“Oh,” he said, startled that he was left speechless. The woman's expression softened.  
  
“I know you are doing all you can to get her back. I can't tell you what that means to me and mine. Have you a plan, sir?” she asked.  
  
“As for that,” Merry said, entering the parlor, “that is our business now, dear hobbits. Let's get started, shall we?”  
  
Just as everyone took their seat, there came a pounding behind them. Someone else was at the door. A hush fell over the group and Frodo saw wide eyes and fear in the faces of his friends. Merry and Pippin and Fatty sprang up and went to the door. Sam gripped his hand.  
  
“Come on Mr. Frodo, we need to get you hidden.”  
  
“Surely it's just a late comer,” Frodo said, nervously. Sam shook his head.  
  
“Everyone is here,” he said.  
  
“It’s a man!” came Merry’s voice from the door. Frodo gasped and Sam tugged at him.  
  
“It’s not the Big Person I met,” Fatty cried.  
  
“And that’s Mr. Hanseed!” Pippin shouted. There was a murmur among the assembled hobbits.  
  
“Hanseed!” Frodo gasped and turned to Sam. “The Bounder and his Watcher! They’ve come at last!”


	19. Pin Your Hope On...

The three gentlehobbits opened the door and greeted those on the doorstep, bringing them inside. Frodo stood once more, near the entrance to the parlor. Hanseed entered first, wiping his feet politely and tipped his cap to Frodo. Frodo nodded to him and looked up. A man came into the hallway, and behind him a young woman as well. The man paused on the threshold, his eyes wandering around the hallway, stooping just a bit as he passed under the ceiling beams.  
  
He wore a dark gray mud spattered cloak, pinned with a small clasp shaped like a star. Frodo stared at it a moment, then moved his gaze to the woman. She too wore a cloak, green and just as weathered, also pinned with a star clasp. Though they were dirty, grim, and travel-stained, Frodo felt a strange peace come over him looking up at them. Hanseed had said there was something fair and noble about these Watchers and Frodo felt it now. He stepped forward.  
  
“Good afternoon,” he said. The two Watchers met his eyes, peering at him.  
  
“Baggins?” the man asked.  
  
“Frodo Baggins, at your service,” he said and bowed. The two gazed at him, then nodded and came forward, ducking into the parlor to join the group. “Thank you for coming,” Frodo added, not accustomed to such quiet guests. He traded a glance to Hanseed. The Bounder gave him an encouraging look.  
  
“Begging your pardon Mr. Frodo for being a bit late. But finding this lot wasn't easy,” he said.  
  
“Not at all,” Frodo said, “Er- are the others on their way as well?”  
  
“Actually, sir,” Hanseed winced and said quietly, “our company is complete.”  
  
“Oh. Yes of course,” Frodo said quickly, eager not to make the other hobbit uncomfortable, though his heart sank in dismay. Two Watchers and one Bounder?  
He followed after the two Watchers, leading Hanseed into the parlor as well. The Watchers stood, regarding the crowd of hobbits.  
  
“Welcome,” Frodo said, looking up at them, “Mr.-?”  
  
“You may call us the Rangers,” he said.  
  
“Not much of a name,” Gaffer Gamgee grumbled loud enough to hear.  
  
“I know your people are secretive,” Frodo said slowly, “and I suppose you have your reasons, but may I ask your names? In our land it is rude to call one by their job or station. And I want to show you my deepest gratitude.” the Rangers paused.  
  
“You are a well spoken halfling,” the man said, “I will not deny you. Halbarad is my name.” The woman peered down at Frodo.  
  
“Aglaril,” she said.  
  
“Mr. Halbarad, Miss Aglaril, thank you,” Frodo said, bowing, “by coming here, you have eased the worry in my heart. Strange darkness has taken up station among the hills of our Shire and we who dwell here are unaccustomed to such. I know that our peace is bought by your labor. So I am doubly grateful to you.”  
  
“I do not begrudge you that peace,” Halbarad said, “and I thank you for your kind words.” Frodo nodded.  
  
“Please, take a seat. And help yourself to tea and any of the food,” he said, gesturing to the table, laden with trays of sliced cold meats, bread and oil, fried potatoes, and steamed mushrooms, though the mushrooms were nearly gone. The two Rangers glanced at the food and went to the table, taking a bit of bread, probably only to be polite Frodo realized, and then they sat on the floor, close to the fire, eating, and resumed watching the hobbits, who were in turn, watching the Rangers.  
  
“I am sorry if we have interrupted a feast,” the man said, “but we cannot linger. We must know of your troubles. I have a feeling there have been more since you met Hanseed.” Frodo nodded and sat down on the sofa, resuming his place.  
  
“We were about to discuss our troubles. I think we can start there. Merry?”  
  
“Right,” Merry stood and went to stand on the other side of the fire place. “You all know that there have been reports of strange things around Hobbiton and Bywater these past days. Some of you may have heard that there is a wolf about. Perhaps something else more sinister. I am sorry to say that the reports are true. And not only are these creatures abroad in the Shire, but there is also a Man, who claims to be a conjurer, stationing himself near the Three Farthing Stone. He is involved in this dark business and has tried to entreat Frodo into meeting with him. Frodo refused him, and that is when he took Dandy Browntree- to force Frodo into a meeting.  
  
“Now, I have ventured out to the Three Farthing Stone this morning, to see what I could find out about this Man, and where he might be keeping the hobbit child. I got more than I hoped for. I have told Mrs. Browntree this, but I will tell you all now, I have seen Dandy and she is alive and well.”  
  
“Let’s not wait then!” Daddy Twofoot cried, standing.  
  
“Peace!” Merry shouted, “we can’t rush in! Please! There is a man guarding her, and he’s been told to take measures if the outbuilding where they are keeping her were to be attacked. So we can’t just rush in!” The hobbits settled, though there was some grumbling.  
  
“The man has sworn to release her as soon as Frodo comes to see him,” Merry continued.  
  
“You've been to see him?” Fatty asked. Merry nodded.  
  
“I met Hob Hatfield at the Three Farthing Stone inn. He came to see me and told me about Dandy, offered to take me to see her.”  
  
“And you did? Merry! Alone?” Frodo asked. Merry nodded sheepish.  
  
“I reasoned I was safe as long as they wanted me to carry a message back to you,” he said. “And I was. On the way back, Hob and I talked a bit more. I asked him what his part in all this was and he confirmed that Lotho is working with this Man. He’s made some deal with him to sell pipe weed down South and Lotho is paying him a nice retainer to find buyers. The Man has also made it clear to Lotho he is more than willing to help him with his Baggins problem.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“He’s going to help him get control of the Hill,” Merry said around his pipe. “Though Hob didn’t know the details of that. Lotho is keeping a lot dark now.” There was silence for a long moment. The Ranger sat up a little and cleared his throat.  
  
“I have listened to all of this and I have not heard anything that would require our skills. Have we been brought into this land because you little Shire-folk are afraid of a Man? A wolf?” Halbarad scowled, “I do not have time to humor you hobbits. There are real dangers in this world and we are needed in the Wild places.” He stood and glowered down at Frodo, “you have done more harm than you know little nobleman.”  
  
“Now you just hold your tongue,” Sam cried springing up, “you’ll not talk to my master that way! And you’re wrong besides. Didn’t you listen to what Mr. Frodo said? Didn’t you read the letter he wrote? It’s creatures in the Shire. That’s why you were called. This Man, well, he’s mixed up in it, I’ve no doubt, but we’re handling him. You don’t need to worry your important heads on Him.”  
  
“Samwise!” the Gaffer hissed.  
  
“Alright, Sam,” Frodo said quietly. Sam pushed his jaw out and glared up at the man, but he sat down again and kept quiet. Merry let out a huff of irritation all his own.  
  
“Forgive us for wasting your time, with our inconsequential talk about rescuing a child,” he said icily, “but you see, we hobbits value one another. But never mind it. I'm sure Frodo would be glad to tell you what he knows of the creatures.”  
  
“Please don’t be offended,” Frodo said to the Watcher, casting a look at Merry, “it’s just that you have come at a very hard time.” The Watcher eased.  
  
“My apologies, hobbits,” he said, “you may not believe it, for we provide much evidence to the contrary, but we Men also value one another.”  
  
“Of course,” Frodo said politely, “but you did tell us that you could not linger. We should not have delayed you. We will come back to our plans to free Dandy, but first let us talk about the reason you have come.”  
  
“Several days ago Sam and I were coming back from Bywater, late, and we were followed to the Row,” Frodo said quietly, “the things that followed after us, they were hobbit sized, but they were not hobbits. Sam had the best look at them and he described them as the dead come back to walk once more. We got to Number Three and found safety. This I wrote of when I sent word to the Bounders, but there have been other incidents and there is more out there than the dead creatures.” Briefly Frodo told them of the false elves he had encountered with Pippin, and the attempts to draw him out into the night.  
  
“Fog you say?” Daddy Twofoot mused, “then it was those things as got Turnplow in Bywater?” Frodo nodded.  
  
“We think so.”  
  
He continued, recounting the night in the woods and near escapes he and Sam had both had at the hands of the creatures, and their rescue by the Elves. As he spoke Frodo saw that Daisy, sitting on Sam's other side, curled around him and hid her face against his shoulder. Sam turned to her and put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.  
  
“And apart from the dead and the false Elves, there are the wolves,” Frodo said grimly, “There are a number of wolves in the Shire. Wolves that do not behave as beasts. They are focused on me and my friends. Stalking us and keeping us to a part of the West Farthing. They stopped Fatty from reaching Budgeford. They do not seem to attack, only heard and keep watch. And from what Sam said, it seems that the Wolves and the dead creatures are working together. It is possible that the false Elves are also their allies, though I cannot know that for sure.” Silence came again.  
  
“Do we know where these things come from?” Marigold asked, “who's their boss? And what do they want with you, Mr. Frodo?” There was a slightly awkward silence.  
  
“Well. I don't know, I'm afraid,” Frodo said. She frowned and turned to the Rangers.  
  
“But don't you folks know? Don't you tangle with creatures like this all the time? Who are they and what do they want, coming into the Shire?”  
  
“We stalk all that are servants of the Enemy,” Aglaril said sternly, “no matter where they travel or who they seek.” She met Marigold's startled eyes, “Does that answer your question?” Marigold considered her.  
  
“No. But I have a feeling that you won't tell me more, Miss,” she said. The Ranger smiled.  
  
“This is all a bit more than I ever figured on,” Bill Grubb said. Frodo nodded.  
  
“I understand,” he murmured, “and I am not asking anything of you. You are my friends, and I wanted counsel. Any help you may offer is appreciated, but I do not expect it.”  
  
“Ah, now dealing with these creatures is our task,” Halbarad said, “you say they were last in the woods to the north?”  
  
“Yes, but know that they seem to follow after me. At least, within a day or so they do,” Frodo told them. The Ranger nodded and stood.  
  
“We will do a bit of work,” he said and glanced at Frodo, “you keep moving in the meantime. Find shelter in busy places. No more of this hiding away in lonely woods. Be among your people in a sturdy inn or at a large family home. Some place with noise and cheer. That is your best defense until we find them.” Frodo's eyes widened.  
  
“Yes sir,” he said. Pippin made a soft sound of delight. Tookbank's Great Smials was the closest large family home that Frodo might flee to. Frodo smiled at his cousin's outburst and rose to walk his guests out.  
  
“Thank you again,” he called to them as they moved to the door, “please, let me know if I can ever aid you.” The two Rangers and Hanseed with them, gave their thanks and departed.  
Frodo went slowly back to the parlor, the soft buzz of talk quieting as he entered once more. Frodo look to Merry, who still stood by the fire.  
  
“Now, what else can you tell us, Merry?” Frodo asked, “it sounds as if you had more to say on rescuing Dandy.” Merry nodded.  
  
“I have arranged to hire a carriage,” he said, “and a few ponies,” he sent a glance to Sam, “I thought Thorin might need to recover from his adventures. The carriage we will use to take Frodo to the Three Farthing Stone. We can't allow him to be spotted by any of Lotho's Shirrifs or any who would report him.” he sighed, “once we have Dandy back, the need for hiding from shirriffs will be at an end, I hope.”  
  
“I hope so too,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Once we get you there and you meet with the conjurer, his men will take a representative or representatives of your choosing to the outbuilding and Dandy will be released to them. We should probably decide now who will go.” Frodo considered this for a long moment.  
  
“Pippin and Sam?” he said, shifting to look at them, “would you both do it?” Sam met his eyes and paused, then nodded. Pippin pursed his lips, frowning.  
  
“Why us?” Pippin asked, “are you trying to spare us?” Frodo sighed.  
  
“Spare you? I wish I could spare all of you, but I can’t. And sending you both to parley with a man armed with a blade is not what I’d call sparing you,” he fixed them both with a sober look, “I am sending you two because I think you have the skills best suited for this task. If things go wrong, Sam has knowledge of the land, sharp eyes and persistence. Pair that with your wiliness and talent for getting in an out of trouble, and I think there are very few problems that you two couldn't dismantle,” Frodo smiled at him. Pippin chuckled. Frodo’s smile faded. “I am trusting you both to keep each other safe and to do the job. I can’t abide that girl being kept in terror,” he said, “and above all, we must rescue her.”  
  
The meeting broke up soon after, everyone eager to get to the Three Farthing Stone. Before long Frodo was in the carriage, riding with Sam, while Merry sat up in the driver seat, moving the carriage down the Hill. Behind the carriage, Pippin and Fatty led the crowd of hobbits willing to go along. About a dozen had pledged to go with Frodo to meet the foreigner- among them Sam's sisters, his brother, the Cottons, the Grubbs and Rollo Bracegirdle, who had been a friend of Bilbo's before he left. A larger number had pledged to come to the Three Farthing Stone, but would keep their distance, congregating at the inn. These were mostly the older folk, including Hamfast and Daddy Twofoot and also Dandy's mother, who would wait there for her daughter's return.  
  
As Frodo sat in the carriage and gazed out the little window at the passing country, he felt a stinging regret that he hadn’t brought Bilbo’s ring with him. Despite those vague warnings, Frodo suddenly felt that he’d been very foolish not to bring it.  
  
He’d never used it- he’d never had need to, nor even been brave enough to slip it on. But now he might find walking unseen to be a very useful thing. And besides, he just wanted it. And why not? After all, it was such a useful thing to Bilbo. And his past fears about it seemed so silly now. Only one fear held much sway over him now; that the ring would be taken from him.  
_  
I couldn’t bear that,_ Frodo thought, _I want to protect the thing. Keep it safe. It’s so beautiful and dear._ He felt a sudden deep well of feeling for the little ring. He caught his breath, puzzled by the feelings.  
_  
It was Bilbo’s. It’s a reminder that he loved me. Enough to give me his greatest treasure. That is why I love it so. It must be._ Because he’d never felt attached to things in particular, except for when they remind him of loved ones.  
_  
It’s a symbol of love and protection,_ he thought, _a small companion to hold on to when things look very dark. A way to protect myself in a dangerous world, and a way to even the playing field a bit. With a small power all my own._  
Frodo stared out the carriage, dazed.  
_  
It’s mine. And I want it. It’s -_  
  
“ _The stars are with the voyager_ ,” Sam sang softly, “ _wherever he may sail_.” Frodo jumped. He had all but forgotten Sam sitting beside him. He turned back to him and Sam’s eyes studied him. Frodo let out a sighed and felt a smile.  
  
“ _The moon is constant to his time,_ ” he spoke the next line, then eased into song, “ _The sun, she will never fail._ ” Sam's expression grew warmer and gingerly he continued singing the verse, Frodo joining in as he went, their voices blending.

 _“But follow, follow round the world,_  
_The green earth and the sea;_  
_So love is with the lover’s heart,_  
_Wherever he may be._

“I've always thought that was beautiful,” Sam said softly.  
  
“It is,” Frodo agreed. Sam smiled and leaned close, peering at him. His hands moved up to cup Frodo's cheeks, rubbing gently. “Ah. Too pale. Here, let Sam see if he can’t put some color in your cheeks.” Frodo laughed softly as Sam leaned in and kissed him. Peace came to him then, and he felt his heart pick up at the sweetness of Sam's kiss. Frodo allowed his eyes to slip shut and let everything go. Sam was holding him, supporting him so that he could lean into his warmth as they traded gentle licks and touches of lips and tongue.  
  
After a time, Sam parted them, and met his gaze, his eyes shining. He lowered his head to kiss under Frodo's ear, and down his neck and his hands dropped to slide ticklishly along his sides. Frodo gasped, laughing and tried to curl, but Sam held fast, chuckling softly.  
  
“Samwise Gamgee!” Frodo cried, trying to catch his breath. Sam sat up, his eyes full of mirth.  
  
“That's better!” he said, his arms curling into an embrace. Frodo sighed and nestled close. “Why, Mr. Frodo,” he teased, “you'll have all the gammers clamoring for to know how you got those pretty pink cheeks.” Frodo laughed.  
  
“And they can go on wondering,” he said. Sam chuckled and kissed his hand. Frodo watched him, fondly. “You don’t have to call me that, you know,” he said softly, “Mr. and sir, and all that.” Sam looked up, blinking at him. He smiled shyly and nodded, warmth in his eyes. “I suppose you knew that, but I just wanted to say it. Make sure.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam said quietly. Frodo smiled at him and drew Sam’s hand between both of his own. “I should feel a bit odd, not calling you Mr. Frodo in front of other folk. Would that hurt you? To call you that when others are about?” Sam asked.  
  
“I know what is between us. Do what feels comfortable,” Frodo murmured to him. Sam considered this.  
  
“T'would be fair hard to call you anything but sir in front of my dad. But,” Sam paused, “I think I could leave off in front of Mr. Merry. And Mr. Pippin. And maybe Mr. Fatty too. At least, with a bit of practice I could.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam nodded, “Mr. Merry told me a few days ago that if me and you got closer, then there would not be any meanness about it from them. He said they wanted us with one another. I didn’t fair know full what he meant back then, but he was talking about this, wasn’t he?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo smiled, touched, “Merry told you that? I’ll have to scold him for pushing into your business.”  
  
“Now don’t you do that,” Sam said, “he was being sweet to me. And I appreciated it.”  
  
“Alright then,” Frodo laughed, “I guess that was considerate.”  
  
The minutes slid by and before long they were passing through the little neighborhood around the Three Farthing Stone. The cart took a turn off the main road and on to a rougher less used track. Before long, they came to a stop and Frodo held his breath. The carriage rocked as Merry jumped down. He came around to the door and opened it a crack.  
  
“Stay inside a minute. Let me check that all is well,” he said quietly. Frodo nodded, but did not speak. Merry closed the door once again and bolted it, his head disappearing from view. Frodo stared out of the carriage windows to the little grove of hickory, where the Big Person was undoubtedly waiting for him. He had never felt this type of fear. He’d feared for his life a few times, but in those instances he’d been caught in the moment, his body full of fight or the need to run. This fear was quieter. Like some great beast standing over him, silent and ready at any moment to snap its jaws and deliver death.  
  
Frodo let his eyes move from the grove the hobbit sittings at his side. Sam was quiet, lost in his own thoughts. Frodo hesitated, then reached out and put his hand over Sam’s, where it rested on his leg. He felt Sam’s eyes on his, but he wasn’t able to look at him. He thought if he did he might lose his composure. Sam’s hand turned over, his fingers curling around Frodo’s, and they sat, hand in hand, quiet.  
  
When Merry came back, Frodo climbed out and Sam followed after. They stood in the shadow of the cart with Fatty and Pippin. Merry stood out a ways, watching the field.  
  
“They're just coming off the road now. Everyone is catching up.”  
  
“You shouldn't have driven so fast Merry,” Fatty said. Merry snorted.  
  
“They were only a bit behind. I was not driving too fast.”  
  
“Says the Brandybuck,” Fatty chuckled. Merry came close, his expression warm.  
  
“Well, Frodo? Ready?” he asked. Frodo paused. Merry's smile faded. “Frodo?”  
  
“If anything happens,” Frodo said slowly, taking a breath. His friends stilled and turned back. He met their eyes. “Know that I love all of you.” There was a sound of drawn in breaths and Frodo lowered his eyes, only to look up again to see his friends drawing near. They huddled together.  
  
“And we all of us love you,” Merry said as they pressed in closer.  
  
“You must come back to us,” Fatty said, taking Frodo's hand in his.  
  
“Of course he will,” Pippin laughed, “Frodo can growl at anyone and come out alright.”  
  
“Aye,” Sam said, “and stand up against aught that would make anyone else shake.”  
  
“You tell that Man off,” Merry said smiling, “teach him that hobbits aren't to be trifled with.”  
  
“I will do my very best,” Frodo said smiling. They held together for another moment, silent, then drew apart once more. Frodo felt stronger for it. Without another word, Frodo stepped around the cart and walked out, taking his place at the head of the small group. He turned to them.  
  
“We are ready, Mr. Frodo,” Daisy said. Frodo smiled at her and nodded.  
  
“Then let's go.”  
  
They drew near the cart, set close to the stand of trees. There was a small circle where a cook fire had been built and a few small tents were pitched nearby. Frodo took a breath and was about to call out, when the tent shifted and the flap opened. A Man with wild red hair and a thick beard came out and stood up, surveying the little crowd. His eyes moved to Frodo.  
  
“Frodo Baggins I presume?” he said. Frodo stepped closer, keeping his eyes locked on the large figure.  
  
“I am Frodo Baggins of Bag End, Master of the Hill. I have been told that you have business with me. I have not come for your business but because you have dared to take a hobbit from her hearth and home. I will see her returned. You, stranger, may be under some assumption that my people cannot defend themselves but you are wrong. Do not trifle with me. Do not trifle with my friends. The blood of Bullroarer Took is in our veins and if you would try to harm any here, then I will teach you the fury of the hobbit folk.”  
  
“The fury of the hobbit folk?” he laughed. Frodo held him in cold regard.  
  
“There is more to us than anyone may guess,” Frodo said in a hard voice, “isn’t that why you’ve come?” The man sobered and silence spread between them.  
  
“I do not know how much your cousin told you, but let me introduce myself to you. I am Volund. I am a conjurer of some means.”  
  
“I do not wish to know you. I want to know where the hobbit child is and I will see her released. That is why I am here,” Frodo said sternly.  
  
“Of course,” the Man nodded and raised a hand. Two men slipped out from behind the cart and walked closer, glowering down at the assembled hobbits. “These two will take whom ever you choose to see the girl and she will be released to their custody.”  
  
“No harm comes to any of them?” Frodo demanded. Volund nodded.  
  
“No. No harm. I swear it,” he said, “the girl has brought you here and that is the only reason I took her. You did not respond to a simple invitation and so I was forced into such a deplorable action.” Frodo frowned but kept quiet. He turned to Sam and Pippin and nodded to them. They stepped forward and followed the two men, who led them off into the fields and through the hedges. Frodo watched them for a moment, then turned back to the Man. Volund was watching him carefully.  
  
“I think you have got the wrong idea about me,” he said, “I have come to the Shire because of rumors of odd happenings and a possible magic item. You see, my Master is chiefly concerned with finding such things and safe guarding them. The world is growing more dangerous and having such things out in the world endangers many. And hobbits in particular are not in a position to safe guard anything. So I have been sent to bring such things out of the Shire where they could do terrible harm and draw all manner of unsavory characters. And, if the owner of such magical things finds himself in danger, then it is my mission to bring him away where he can be safe.”  
  
“If that is your goal then why have you spent time conspiring with my cousin so?” Frodo said quietly, “What is all this about weed sales?”  
  
“A side matter,” the man said.  
  
“I have heard that you have been plotting with him to remove me from the Hill,” Frodo growled. The man blinked.  
  
“Again, a side matter, which seemed advantageous for all involved. You need to leave the Shire, I offer my services to do that and bring you to a place of safe keeping, and your kinsmen takes care of your home and other property.”  
  
“There is just the small matter that I do not wish for my property to go to cousin Lotho,” Frodo said. The man looked impatient.  
  
“You would risk your life by dithering over who gets what when you must flee this place? Do not be stubborn, Mr. Baggins.”  
  
“Why does it matter to you if Lotho gets my property?”  
  
“It doesn’t,” the man sighed, “only in so much that Mr. Sackville-Baggins has offered help with my pursuits and I in turn wish to help him.“ Frodo paused.  
  
“It is true, I have found myself in danger. But I will not be forced into following you. I think you are a rascal and a liar. If you had truly wished to safe guard me then why did you not come to me and tell me your mission? Instead you have plotted to steal my home and kidnapped a child to force my hand. You demand things in my possession and promise to “protect” me in turn? No. Everything you have done tells me that I cannot trust you.”  
  
“I apologize,” the man said, “but I was certain you would not believe me. And I did not know that you were in such immediate danger for a time. How would that have been? I come to you, ask you for your property and that you leave your life for no cause other than the words of a stranger? No. You would never have listened.”  
  
“I might have,” Frodo murmured, “but now we will never know.”  
  
“Mr. Baggins, do not let my acts and unfamiliarity with your people's customs make you do something very silly. I know you are stubborn, but if you fall into the hands of those creatures you will be very sorry for your stubbornness. It's already nearly cost you your life, hasn't it?” Frodo glared at him.  
  
“I am stubborn,” he said, eyeing the Man, “But not so stubborn that I will not make a counter offer.” He drew from his cloak a small bottle and held it up. “You want magic? Then here it is. The root of all the magic talk lately spread around Hobbiton. A potion from the stocks of Bilbo Baggins, Master of the Hill before me.”  
  
“A potion?” the Man asked slowly. Frodo nodded.  
  
“Good against any poison,” he said softly, “and I should know.” He looked up, fierce suddenly, meeting the Man's eyes. “I am willing to give this to you. But in return you will leave the Shire. And you will never come back.”  
  
“A potion,” the Man laughed, “I can see from here, that potion was made by a Wizard, but it is not magic. It is made of herbs and tonics and purgatives. I am sorry, but this sort of thing will not satisfy me.”  
  
“If that isn’t magic, then I haven’t anything that is,” Frodo said coldly. The southerner regarded him solemnly for a moment, then smiled.  
  
“Don’t tell me you don’t know about magic,” he said, “you smell of it.” Frodo grimaced. He didn’t know what the magician meant. “Talk is, that your friend Gandalf has given you objects of magic to help you maintain your power in this land. Your cousin, has got the idea that you are at the center of a plot- that you obtained vast wealth from a kinsmen with the aid of your Wizard friend and that he gave you magic things which grants you luck and youth and power. That is what I want. Such things of power must be guarded. And you, little hobbit, are not capable.” Frodo kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know what to say; deny the claim and he would be called a liar but he had nothing truly magical that Gandalf had given him. Briefly he thought of Bilbo’s little invisibility ring; useful for a hobbit but surely that would only be a toy to a conjurer; and at any rate, Gandalf hadn’t given him that. “You know what I speak of.” Frodo stared.  
  
“No,” he said, “I don't.”  
  
“We don't have time to bicker back and forth about what you do and don't know,” the man said, “darkness will fall soon. And you know what will happen then, don't you?” Frodo's shoulders tightened. The man smiled, “They will come for you. The dead things.”  
  
“You claim to be able to forestall them,” Frodo said softly, “so forestall them while we negotiate.” The man shook his head.  
  
“As if I hold sway with them. I do not. I am only aware of them. And I know how serious they are. The protection I offer you is to flee from them. I and my associates can hide you until you are safely conveyed to the stronghold of my Master.”  
  
“And who is your Master?” Frodo demanded.  
  
“We will discuss that once you agree to come with me.”  
  
“This is much too mysterious for my liking. No,” Frodo said, “I have other offers of refuge outside the Shire. You are not the only choice.”  
  
“I promise you that I am the best choice,” the man said in a hard voice, “and I am growing tired of telling you this.” Frodo met his eyes.  
  
“I have nothing for you,” he said in a loud clear voice. The man's eyes blazed. He raised a hand and something snapped through the air around them. Frodo jumped in alarm and turned to see his friends falling at his side. He cried out in horror and fell to his knees, grasping Merry's shoulders.  
  
“Merry!” he cried.  
  
“I had hoped I would not need to resort to such things,” the Man said in a calm voice, “but I need for you to see what I can do.” Frodo shook Merry but his cousin only groaned, his eyes fluttering, his body slack.  
  
“Stop this!” Frodo shouted turning to look up at him, “what have you done?”  
  
“Only sent them into a swoon. They are not harmed,” the man said, “but unless you come with me, Mr. Baggins, the next strike I take will stop their little hearts. You don't want that.”  
  
“What?” Frodo demanded dazed and sick, “what must I do?”  
  
“Get into my cart. That's all,” the man said, “and they will be up and about in a minute or so.” Frodo touched Fatty's shoulder, but he only slumped over. He turned, and stared across the little group; his friends and neighbors and their kin.  
  
“Alright,” he said simply and staggered up, going to the cart. The man came up behind him and hauled him up, opening the doors at the back of the cart. Frodo squawked in protest and tried to turn and fight, as his leather chest plate slid up, tightened against his neck as he was lifted, but then he was thrown in, rolling into the little space. He pulled himself up, but the doors were slammed shut again and he heard the sound of a lock snapping closed. Tears fell down his cheeks and he shook, thinking only of those he was leaving behind.  
  
“Oh, he did it,” came a surprised voice. Frodo snapped around in alarm. It was dark in the cart and he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust, but he had recognized the voice.  
  
“Lotho Sackville-Baggins!” he shouted in a rage and launched himself toward the voice. Lotho let out a cry of alarm. Frodo was too angry and frightened and disoriented to be terribly effective, but his hand closed around a clump of curly hair and he yanked hard. Lotho howled and Frodo felt a thump against his stomach, the impact of Lotho's blow deadened by his armor. Then arms were pulling him from behind, drawing him off Lotho.  
  
“Lotho, you shit-delver!” Frodo hissed and then turned addressing the hobbit behind him, “Whoever is there, you let go of me!”  
  
“I beg your pardon, sir,” came a second voice from behind, “but you ought not be fighting like this.” Frodo went ridged and his fury doubled. He turned in the hobbit's grip and forced him down.  
  
“You!” Frodo snarled.  
  
“Ah! Sir! I'm sorry! I told you that! It was wrong of me to go and poison Sam Gamgee like that and-”  
  
“Say his name again,” Frodo said, his voice dangerous, “and I will make sure that you never father any children, Robert Hatfield.”  
  
“Alright Frodo,” Lotho huffed and grabbed his collar, “that's enough!” Frodo yelped as he caught a blow to the head and saw stars. “Sorry! But you were being unreasonable,” Lotho growled and let him go, “just remember cousin, it's two against one, for anything you try. Not to mention the Man. Oh,” he paused as the cart shook and began to move. Frodo grasped his head, pain throbbing through his skull.  
  
“Where are we going?” he demanded. Lotho eased back into his corner.  
  
“Just settle in,” he said, “and never you mind where we are going. You won't like it in any case.” Frodo took a breath and kept quiet. No, he supposed, he wouldn't. He curled in on himself and was lost in dark thoughts.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Sam and Pippin jogged along the lane through the neighborhood of low holes and humble buildings. There had been no trouble getting Dandy- the Man was true to his word. His informants had wordlessly led them out to the farmer's lands and taken them to the outbuilding. Inside they had found little Dandy Browntree sitting in a corner. Her eyes had widened at their appearance. Sam and Pippin had gone to her, kneeling down and drawing her bound hands up.  
  
“Tis a cruel thing!” Sam cried. Dandy watched them cut her bonds silently, though she had wept. Pippin helped her stand while Sam watched men, who surveyed them in silence. “Proud of yourselves are you? Scaring a little babe!” Sam had spat.  
  
“Sam,” Pippin groaned. Sam held his tongue as they led Dandy out and into the fields. Her weeping grew harder so that she stumbled and wailed a little. Sam had lifted her up and carried her, eager to get away from the men.  
  
“There lass!” Pippin had said, trying to ease her, “it's alright now. Promise. We're taking you to see your mother.” She had only cried harder, shaking, and Sam had felt very bad for her. No child should have had to be so frightened, he thought, petting her hair, and he cursed the men once more.  
  
They had come to the Stone and Hill inn, bursting through the doors and there had been such a commotion at their appearance. Goldy rushed at them and took her daughter, crying and thanking them. Hobbits crowded around them them and offered them drinks and food, but Sam and Pippin had quickly declined these offers. Sam caught a look from his father, busting with pride, but they had no time for words. Sam and Pippin ducked out of the inn and were soon on their way back to the field where the Man had his camp.  
  
As the entered the field it was clear that something was not right. The cart was gone and though they could see a cluster of hobbits, they were down on the ground. Sam let out a cry and ran headlong into the field, Pippin following at his heels. The hobbits gathered were clearly in distress, trying to climb to their feet and falling down like so many drunkards. Sam reached his sisters and bent to kneel at their sides, his arms around Daisy’s shoulders.  
  
“Daisy?” he cried.  
  
“I’m alright, Sam-dear,” she gasped, “just fuddled a might.” He reached out for Marigold as well, as she slumped against him.  
  
“Just give us a moment. We’re alright,” she said. Sam could feel himself shaking, even as his eyes sought faces among the crowd. A coldness gripped his heart. He found Merry in the crowd, leaning against Pippin.  
  
“Sir,” Sam called, his voice pained, “Where is Mr. Frodo?” Merry looked sick.  
  
“He got into that Man's cart,” he said weakly, “the Man threatened to kill us if he didn’t.” Sam felt his sisters wrap their arms around him. He was trembling and though tears rolled down his cheeks, Sam felt a finger of strength taking hold of him.  
  
“Let’s go after him, Mr. Pippin,” he said and rose, “we’ll get ponies and catch him up!” Pippin blinked and nodded.  
  
“You stay here, Merry,” Pippin said and rise. Merry shook his head and drew himself up on shaking legs.  
  
“No,” Merry said, “and I am strong enough to ride.” Pippin gave him a skeptical look but didn't say anything. Merry loped over to Fatty who was sitting up, blinking and holding his head. “Hey! Fatty! Alright there?”  
  
“I will be,” Fatty groaned.  
  
“Right. We're riding after Frodo. Can you stay and see to these folk?” Merry asked him. Fatty peered up at him.  
  
“Yes of course. Go on you lot. Get Frodo back,” he said, “this has been such a disaster. I can only wish that it won't be a catastrophe.” Merry patted his shoulder and went to rejoin Sam and Pippin.  
  
“You sure you can ride Mr. Merry?” Sam pressed, watching him closely, “if you fall then that will not help Mr. Frodo one bit.” Merry flinched. “I'd feel better if you rode with one of us,” Sam added. Merry's expression eased.  
  
“Alright, Sam,” he said. As they went quickly toward the inn and stable. Pippin darted in to hire the ponies and Sam went to stand by them, examining the beasts. A minute later Pippin came out, followed by a crowd of hobbits all clamoring and crying out, the Gaffer among them.  
  
“Sam! What's this now?” he demanded, “where is everyone?”  
  
“They're alright! Sam cried out as Pippin shouted his own reassurances. The crowd moved out into the lane and then went into the field, going to the aid of the slowly recovering hobbits. The Gaffer lingered at Sam's side as he watched the ponies being tacked.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” the Gaffer asked. Sam bit his lip.  
  
“That Man's taken him,” he said tightly. The Gaffer hissed in dismay. “We're going to get him back.” Hamfast patted his son's back.  
  
“And so you will, Sam,” he said. The stable master finished saddling the ponies and before they knew it Sam was sitting on a gray pony, watching Merry being hauled up to sit behind Pippin. They went out into the lane, Hamfast lingering in the road with them.  
  
“Now then! I want to know where we're headed,” Pippin said.  
  
“Where was the cart headed?” Sam asked, walking his pony close.  
  
“They took the farm track north,” Merry breathed, “but they won't be on the main roads.”  
  
“Fine,” Sam said in a low hard voice, “they shan't get away. We know where they're off to.”  
  
“Oh?” Pippin pipped up, “well now that's more than I know.”  
  
“South,” Sam said. Merry shook his head.  
  
“No Sam, he’s headed to Bag End “ he said in a hard voice. Sam paused.  
  
“But Mr. Merry,” he said weakly, doubt coming over him. Pippin sent him a sympathetic look.  
  
“Come on Sam. Merry’s right,” Pippin said, “he knows what he's about.” Sam dithered a moment more, staring at the road.  
  
“Sam, I promise you,” Merry said, “he's going to Bag End. There's things you don't understand about this.” Sam turned and stared at him.  
  
"Alright, Mr. Merry," he said and turned to his father, "We'll be at Bag End, Dad."  
  
“Aye, then," Hamfast said, "I'll see to the others and send them on to help.” Sam nodded, grateful. His father ambled off across the lane and disappeared among the crowd.  
  
“Come on!” Pippin turned his pony, “we can ride faster than the cart, especially if he'd taking back roads. We can beat him there and be ready.”

<>O<>O<>O<>    

As they came up the hill and entered the garden Merry spied a carriage parked on the road out front and recognized it as the Sackville-Baggins carriage.  
  
“Now what is this?” he wondered aloud. They dismounted and Sam went quickly ahead, pushing through the garden gate.  
  
“You!” a high female voice shouted and Merry turned to see Lobelia seated under a bower, holding her umbrella in clenched fists. She jumped up and went toward the path.  
  
“Aunt Lobelia I’ve no time. We’ve a bit of an emergency-” Merry said quickly, trying to walk past her. Sam paid her no mind but rushed past, heading toward the front door.  
  
“Well!” Lobelia cried in anger, looking first after Sam then focusing her attention on Merry, “I say!” Lobelia said, stepping in front, blocking Merry’s path.  
  
“Move curse you!” Merry shouted, trying to step past her, “Frodo is missing and in danger and if you do not get out of my way Aunt Lobelia-”   
  
“Frodo's run off hasn't he? I'll bet he has, if you want my opinion.”  
  
“I don’t want your opinion,” he growled at her. Pippin came along behind and joined them.  
  
“Where is my son?” Lobelia demanded, “and what has Frodo done with him?”  
  
“It's the other way round I'm afraid,” Pippin said. Merry tried to push past her, but Lobelia raised her umbrella threateningly.  
  
“I am not leaving until you Brandybucks tell me what you have done with my son! He is missing and I'm not having this! I know Frodo is behind it! I hear he’s been up to all sorts of disgraceful things; running the Baggins name through the mud.”  
  
“I do not have time to deal with you,” Merry shouted at her.  
  
“Yes you do. Bag End is empty. Frodo isn't in there. I should know, I've searched the place top to bottom.”  
  
“You’ve searched Bag End?” Merry asked, “I didn’t know that breaking and entering was a skill encouraged in West Farthing gentry families.”  
  
“Take yourself off to Bree young lad!” Lobelia cried, “And I did not break in; the door was unlocked and I was looking for my Lotho! So I had very good cause! He’s mixed up in your business I’ve no doubt that Frodo has got at him in some way. He always hated my Lotho, and I won’t have you tell me otherwise!”  
  
“Oh he’s mixed up alright,” Merry sneered. Lobelia glowered at them.  
  
“Where is Frodo?”  
  
“We do not know,” Merry growled. She wrinkled her nose peering at them.  
  
“Does that servant boy know?”  
  
“No he doesn’t,” Merry said sighing, and rubbing his face.  
  
“Oh really! This is a disgrace!” Lobelia huffed, “It’s so improper all this disappearing and reappearing. If Frodo has disappeared my Lotho I’ll have the shirrifs after you, you confounded Brandybucks!” Merry glared at her.  
  
“Aunt Lobelia. Go away,” he said. Lobelia looked at Pippin, as if expecting a different answer. Pippin blinked.  
  
“I’m a Took you know,” he pointed out. Lobelia frowned deeply at him. They turned at the sound of an approaching pony and Merry's heart leapt into his throat. But he soon saw that it was a lone pony, and that Fatty was riding up the Hill toward them. He dismounted and ambled up the garden path.  
  
“You must have been quick on our heels!” Pippin remarked, "Everyone alright?"  
  
“Fine,” Fatty wheezed, “Frodo?”  
  
“No sign yet.”  
  
“What's all this?” Lobelia demanded, “is Frodo coming?”  
  
“Yes we think so,” Merry said, “but he won't be alone. You don't want to be here.”  
  
“I do if my son is in danger. Don't you tell me what I want!” she hissed at him. Merry felt a little of his hostility melt.  
  
“Mrs. Lobelia,” Fatty said, keeping his voice light and gentle as he poured on his charm, “there's not anything for you to do here. We don't know where Lotho is. It's possible we can get some information about his whereabouts. If we do we promise to tell you.”  
  
“Swear it?” Lobelia pressed. Fatty nodded.  
  
“Yes. Swear. But in the meantime, we think a rather nasty fellow may come up the Hill and those lads are going to take care of him.”  
  
“A rascal is it? I suppose he'd one of Frodo's wild foreigner friends. I knew trouble would come of it! Didn't I always say?”  
  
“Yes you always did say so,” Fatty said soothingly, “now, we'll find Lotho, don't you worry. But for now, could I escort you back toward Hobbiton?”  
  
“Well. Yes. That would be appreciated,” Lobelia sniffed. Fatty glanced over at Merry.  
  
“I'll get word out. We'll put riders on every road between here and the Water. We'll find that cart.”  
  
“Thank you, Fatty,” Merry breathed. Fatty nodded and led Lobelia away.  
  
“Do you know that Brandybuck was rude to me?” he heard Lobelia hiss to Fatty.  
  
“No!” Fatty said in surprise, “now you know he didn't mean it.” Merry smiled slightly, then went into Bag End. He met Sam who was standing in the hall, looking lost and haunted. Merry felt a jolt of pain at his expression and went to him.  
  
“It's alright,” he said gently, “come on. We have work to do. We must set a trap and be ready for when that Man appears. Yes?” Sam nodded, wordlessly and followed Merry.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

They waited for hours. Merry and Sam were hidden in one of the secret passages, a lone dim candle lighting the small space as they strained their ears for any sound of entry. Pippin was stationed outside, ready to meet any of Frodo's supporters and help rally them for the final fight. But so far, nothing had happened. Sam felt a deep ache growing inside him, and the cold and nightmares that had been battered back into submission earlier in the day had returned with a vengeance. He was shaking with that cold and fear, trying not to think too hard about what had passed, afraid that if he did he would go to pieces.  
  
As time slipped by though, he had grown more and more certain of one thing: Frodo and the Man were not coming to Bag End. After a time, Sam turned and fixed Merry with a look.  
  
“He's not coming,” he said. Merry turned to him and Sam was about to launch into his arguments, but Merry looked suddenly so afraid and fragile.  
  
_Oh. He knows it too,_ Sam thought. He had never seen such raw pain and fear in Merry's face. Any hard feelings left him and Sam went to the Brandybuck, taking him by the shoulders.  
  
“I don't understand,” Merry breathed, his voice hitching. Sam felt pain flare within him.  
  
“He's gone South,” he said. Merry gave him an astonished look.  
  
“No! That Man wants what Frodo has! He'd not leave the Shire without it! You should have heard him! He was desperate for it!”  
  
“Aye Mr. Merry,” Sam sighed, “He wants some treasure, but he can't get that. Right now what the Big Person wants is information from Mr. Frodo. Information he's not going to get easy, cause Mr. Frodo is stubborn. He couldn't have just drug him into his home and made him tell. Mr. Frodo wouldn't, even if he had anything to tell. And he'd soon be surrounded by friends. No, that man is going to have to spirit him away someplace where he can question Mr. Frodo without his friends finding him and breaking him out,” Sam closed his eyes, feeling a tremble come into his body, “someplace where he can can take his time. Gather his lot- those men with their nasty ways- and then he can do things that would make someone as strong as Mr. Frodo break.”  
  
“Sam,” Merry gasped and clung to him. Sam put his arms around Merry.  
  
“We're going to put a stop it, Mr. Merry,” he soothed.  
  
“I'm so sorry!” Merry cried, “I was such an ass to you. I underestimated you, Sam Gamgee. I assumed I knew best. But I didn't. I am so very sorry.”  
  
“Never mind it, Mr. Merry,” Sam said gently, “I wasn't so sure myself. Not till now.” Merry drew back and looked into his face.  
  
“You should have been, Sam. You worked it out. Step by step.” He took a breath, “So, South? To his Master?”  
  
“Well, no,” Sam said, “I’m thinking that’s too far. Like you say, he’d not want to leave the Shire before he’s got Mr. Frodo’s treasures. But he could go to Mr. Lotho's land in the South Farthing. He’d be free to do what he pleased there.”  
  
“Right,” Merry said and there was some strength in him again. He walked down the tunnel and pushed the panel aside, stepping out. “Let's find Pippin,” he said grimly.  
  
They found him outside sitting with Sam's family- Hamson, Daisy and Marigold along with cousin Halfast. They nodded a greeting.  
  
"What's happening?" Pippin asked, anxious.  
  
"Naught for now," Sam said.  
  
“I need a favor,” Merry said to them, “can someone run out to Hobbiton, find out where Fatty is and give him a message? We think Frodo will not be taken to Bag End. They would have come by now. So if he can, widen his search south of here. We think they may be making for the South Farthing, heading to Lotho's property.”  
  
“Lor,” Hamson said frowning, “Mr. Lotho has a bit of land down there.” Merry nodded.  
  
“I know. This may be difficult,” he said. Hamson stood.  
  
“I'll go. Never fear Mr. Merry. I'll get the message out.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Are we setting out then?” Pippin asked going to Merry's side. Merry went tight lipped.  
  
“Yes,” he said slowly, “but there's one thing to take care of. Come along.” Pippin made a soft sound.  
  
"What ought we to do?" Marigold asked. Merry turned.  
  
"If you are not too tierd we need folks riding on the roads, searching for the cart. Fatty has gone to Hobbiton to arrange scouts. You could find out more from him there." They rose.  
  
"See you later then," Daisy said, shifting her attention to Sam, "good luck to everyone." They bid one another good bye and then Sam, Merry and Pippin went back up to Bag End. The light was nearly gone and the first stars were coming out.  
  
“What's all this Merry?” Pippin demanded in hushed tones, “if Frodo isn't being brought to Bag End, then we must go!” Merry sighed.  
  
“And what will we do even if we do find them?”  
  
“We fight those bastards!” Pippin shouted. Merry shook his head.  
  
“What's to stop that Man from putting us right back into a swoon? No. We won't win a confrontation,” he said.  
  
“We can take him by surprise!” Pippin pressed. Sam shook his head but kept quiet. “What about the Watchers?”  
  
“Didn’t seem too keen to help us against this Man before. All they cared about were the creatures. Nay we won't find help there.”  
  
“But the Man took Frodo!” Pippin cried.  
  
“That’s not going to matter to them. They see this as some fight between us and this Man, and none of their concern,” Merry said.  
  
“If we can't do it by force, and we can’t call on the Watchers, then what can we do?” Sam breathed, “I’ll not just let him take him.”  
  
“None of us will,” Pippin said firmly.  
  
“Then we must go to make a deal,” Merry said.  
  
“With what? That man said he wanted magic things,” Sam said, pained. Pippin straightened.  
  
“Oh! I know! I’ll break into the Great Smials treasure horde,” he said, excited, “there are these diamond stud cuff links that-”  
  
“No,” Merry said, “the Man is looking for something magic in Frodo’s possession.”  
  
“But he doesn’t have anything!” Sam cried.  
  
“Well,” Merry said slowly, “he has one thing.”  
  
“Hey?” Sam blinked.  
  
“Say Frodo did have something valuable. Something magical,” Merry said, speaking quickly, “Where do you think he would keep it?” Sam stared back at him, bewildered.  
  
“I haven’t any idea sir. He’s got a little lock box where he keeps gems and oddments, but I don’t know about anything magical. It might depend on what it is I suppose,” Sam said. Merry’s eyes shifted to him but he didn’t say anything.  
  
“Like Bilbo’s sword,” Pippin said slowly, “He said it was magical and he kept it on the mantel piece. I never saw it do anything though.” Merry shook his head.  
  
“No, something small, say the size of jewelry.”  
  
“Merry! What are you on about?” Pippin asked. Merry drew ahead, making his way to the steps at the back door. “If we’re to find this thing you have best tell us what it is!” Merry turned at the door, then ushered them both in ahead of him and closed the door behind him, locking it. He turned and stared stonily at them both.  
  
“Frodo has a magic ring,” he said quietly, “It’s just a little gold thing. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen him carry it have you Sam?” Sam frowned.  
  
“I’ve never known Mr. Frodo to carry such a thing, nor to wear a ring either.” Merry smiled.  
  
“No, I don’t suppose you would have ever seen him wear it,” he said. “Well lads, we are going to find Frodo's ring.”  
  
“And what are we going to do with it?” Pippin asked, following Merry down the hall.  
  
“We will take it to that Man,” Merry said, his voice was cold with anger and determination, “and trade it for Frodo’s life.” Sam saw Pippin pause at his cousin’s tone and turn a worried glance back at Sam. Sam stared evenly back.  
  
“Yes, sir.”


	20. When Walls and Doors Cannot Protect You

The cart had stopped a few hours after they left the Three Farthing Stone behind. Frodo had spent most of it agonizing over the pain and fear he knew he’d put his friends into. He kept trying to think what he could have done differently, but either there hadn’t been any way to improve things or he wasn’t clever enough to see it.  
  
_And yet, I know that Bilbo wouldn’t be in this cart,_ Frodo thought. _He would have talked his way out of it, or used his magic ring to slip away._  They came to a halt and a moment later, the cart door was wrenched open and the Man peered at them.  
  
“Have you been behaving yourself Mr. Baggins?” he asked. Frodo gave him a silent look. He noted that it was fully dark outside, but could not take in any more of their surroundings. “Now see here,” the Man said, climbing up into the cart and setting his lantern down, “Mr. Sackville-Baggins, you haven’t done as I told you. Why isn’t he bound?” Lotho looked uncomfortable.  
  
“There’s not any need for that surely? He’s not going anywhere.”  
  
“Let’s keep it that way,” the Man pointed to a length of thick twine set aside in the corner. Lotho took it up and moved in front of Frodo.  
  
“Oh very well. But it was dark in here. I couldn’t very well bind him up,” Lotho grumbled. Frodo let himself be bound. His anger at Lotho had flitted away, replaced now with deep bewilderment and sadness. He’d had this hobbit over for tea. They’d played golf together.  
  
“What do you want with me?” Frodo asked, miserable. Volund sighed.  
  
“Haven’t we made that clear Mr. Baggins?” Frodo lifted his face, his anger sparking up again.  
  
“I don't know what you mean! Gandalf and I never had any plot. He has never given me anything of power! I haven't even seen him in years! You are wrong about all of this.”  
  
“I am not wrong that you are being targeted by creatures who would not be interested in you if what you say is true.”  
  
“I don't know what they want!” Frodo cried, “I swear it!”  
  
“He's not going to tell you anything,” Lotho commented. The conjurer sent him a look.  
  
“Well, Mr. Baggins, I can hide you for a time, but not forever. I will give you a day to think it over, for I would really rather not leave this place without your treasure, but if you insist on telling me nothing more, then I will take you South to my Master. He has ways to find what he seeks. He has a Questioner. And other darker methods beyond anything you might imagine. You would not like to tread down that path.”  
  
“Did you ever mean to protect me?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Yes. I told you nothing untrue. I and my Master will protect you against the creatures. But that does not mean that we will not take a very hard course to find what we seek. When you are in a position like my Master, you must commit these small unpleasantness's in seeking good for the world.”  
  
“I don't think much of your Master,” Frodo said at last. Volund raised his eyebrows but said nothing.  
  
“Well,” Lotho said, “we do have one other bit of business before you leave the Shire, don't we?” Lotho said carefully. Frodo glared at him.  
  
“Do we?” he demanded. Lotho nodded.  
  
“Tomorrow morning, you will walk with me into the Longbottom Ordinary's office and sign a new will in front of witnesses. You're going to make me your heir,” Lotho said quietly, “then, Mr. Volund will collect this bauble he wants and spirit you out of the Shire to safety.”  
  
“Is that what you think?” Frodo hissed.  
  
“Listen to your kinsmen, hobbit,” the conjurer said, “his plan is the best outcome for you.”  
  
“It doesn't sound very appealing,” Frodo said tightly.  
  
“It's better than the alternative,” Lotho said quietly.  
  
“And that is?” Frodo growled. Lotho sent him an irritated look.  
  
“The alternative is that I engage this man for his services. He has assured me that he can give me a very good chance at taking control of your assets.” Frodo stared.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” he said icily. “How will he do that?”  
  
“Once I have taken you South, I will return to the Shire and I will dispose of your current heir,” Volund said slowly. Frodo was frozen for a long moment, then his heart began to pound and dizziness hit him. “And not just him. As I understand your laws, if I only did away with the one Gamgee, then the property would revert to his living kin. So I would need to take care of all of the Gamgee clan.” Frodo stared at his cousin, paralyzed in horror. Lotho gave him a cool look.  
  
“I'm only protecting what my family is owed," Lotho murmured. Frodo shook his head, dazed.  
  
“I don't believe you,” his voice quavered, “You could not do that to Sam. Nor his family."  
  
“I never said I would,” Lotho growled impatiently, “This man will do it." Frodo felt a deep fresh wash of fear hit him. “It is a business arrangement. Actually, I'll not know anything about it. How he handles the affair is his business.”  
  
“That's how you put it to yourself?” Frodo demanded, his voice betraying his panic. Lotho met his eyes.  
  
“They aren't like us, Frodo,” he said. Frodo stared at him and felt the deepest hatred that he had ever experienced, boil up into his heart. “And you're the one who put them in the way.”  
  
“I didn't know I was putting them in the way of a murderer,” Frodo said quietly. Lotho glanced away, silent.  
  
“Then take them out of the way of a murderer,” the Man said. Frodo closed his eyes. His choice was made- it had been made from the moment Lotho threatened Sam and his family. But the deep pain and fear of that threat still ate at his heart.  
  
“I will sign the will you've written for me.”

The Man gave them each a bit of dried beef and some bread, then he crawled out of the cart and closed the doors once more, locking them in. This time he left his lantern, hooking it into a ring drilled into the cart ceiling, so that they had a bit of light. After a while, the cart began to move as they continued on their way. Frodo had eaten, though the food felt like dust in his mouth. He kept himself resolutely silent, but could not resist staring at Lotho, his full fury in his eyes.   
  
“Glare all you like,” Lotho sniffed at last, “I don't care.”  
  
“You are vile,” Frodo spat at him.  
  
”Bilbo used to say the same of my parents. Worse too, if memory serves.”  
  
“Don't you speak his name,” Frodo whispered.  
  
“Oh cousin,” Lotho sighed.  
  
“We're not family anymore, as far as I am concerned,” Frodo said ice in his heart. “You are loathsome to me.”  
  
“I knew you would give in! So there never was a chance that I’d actually have him harm the Gamgees. The threat is enough.”  
  
“Making the threat at all is evil,” Frodo shouted, “And what do you mean, they aren’t like us?”  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
“I can guess but I want you to say it.”  
  
“I won’t give you the pleasure.”  
  
“There is no pleasure in any of this,” Frodo hissed.  
  
“He’d not really have killed them,” Lotho said at last, “I wouldn’t have allowed that. They could have been sent into exile. Buckland or even Bree, and warned to never return.”  
  
“Don’t you understand?” Frodo cried, “you are not in control here! That man is. If he found it easier to kill, then he would.”  
  
“But I hired him,” Lotho said, “I don’t see how-“  
  
“Can you leave?” Frodo demanded. Lotho looked taken aback.  
  
“What? Why would I want to?”  
  
“Say you wanted to. Could you?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“No you can’t,” Frodo sighed, “you and Hob are just as much prisoners as me.”  
  
“I don’t see how you figure that.”  
  
“You’re both locked in the back of this cart with me!” Frodo said through his teeth, “if you were this man's partner then you would be out there riding with him."   
  
“No. No,” Lotho sniffed, “we are in here because it is cold.” Frodo cried out in frustration. Hob stared at the floor and said nothing.  
  
“He is using you,” Frodo said at last.   
  
“Of course he is,” Lotho said crossing his arms, “and I am using him. That’s how a business arrangement works.”  
  
“You stupid hobbit!” Frodo spat, “you're going to get yourself killed.” He sank into silence a moment. After a while he went on, “Incidentally, you are placing a great amount of trust in this scoundrel. When he leaves and takes me South, what makes you think he’ll return? His word?”  
  
“Money for one thing. He gets a cut of your estate,” Lotho said wearily, “And if you don’t give over and tell him what he wants now then once they’ve got the secret out of you he’ll have to return to collect whatever it is.” He squinted,  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“There is nothing!” Frodo growled. Lotho snorted.  
  
“As you like. It’s none of my concern. I don’t hold with wizard oddments. Seems a very large liability to keep any about. As I’m sure you see now.”  
  
“Just shut up,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“You started this, questioning me,” Lotho sniffed. He paused the added, “besides, I really don’t see much alternative. Trusting in this Man is the only way I see that I will ever get Bag End away from you.” Silence filled the cart.  
  
“I’ll give you Bag End. I’ll sign it over tomorrow and if you help me escape this Man, then I will leave the will alone. You can have it.” Lotho gazed at him.  
  
“I’d be waiting until you die or disappear. I could be waiting another sixty years. If I outlive you.” Frodo sighed.  
  
“Then I’ll sign it over now! We’ll go to the deed office!” Lotho stared at him. “I only want to see my friends again. I am leaving the Shire. I can’t go home to Bag End. Don’t you see that?” Lotho considered his offer.  
  
“I don’t trust you,” he said at length.  
  
“I am not faithless! You know I keep my word!” Frodo protested, feeling despair. Lotho was quiet. “You are afraid of this Man, aren’t you?”  
  
“I’d be a bit foolish not to be.”  
  
“Ah. I see how it is then,” Frodo said softly, “you’re going to betray everything it means to be a hobbit. Just so long as you get property and money and a platform to claim a bit of power.”  
  
“What a self-righteous ass you are,” Lotho said. Frodo willed himself to stay silent. Hob cleared his throat. The two gentlehobbits glanced at him and he shrank back at Frodo’s glare. Ever since Frodo had attacked him, he’d kept quiet, trying to avoid further wrath.  
  
“Mr. Lotho, one thing we might need to look out for- it is true the man won’t let us leave. Least, he wouldn’t let me leave.” Lotho frowned.  
  
“When did you try and leave?”  
  
“After we got done with Mr. Merry. He and I had some words, and it made me a might nervous about all this. So I tried to light out from the inn, but Mr. Volund caught me and brought me back to the cart.” He shook his head.  
  
“You shouldn’t listen to Merry Brandybuck,” Lotho growled, “he doesn’t know what he’s talking about half the time.” Frodo hissed through his teeth in irritation, but Lotho ignored him.  
  
“Ah, Mr. Merry is alright,” Hob said, “even if he did shove me against a wall and nearly beat me when I met him at the inn.”  
  
“What quarrel did he have with you?” Lotho frowned. Hob winced.  
  
“It was the... ah,” he glanced nervously at Frodo, “the matter with... Mr. Frodo’s gardener.”  
  
“What’s that to Merry?” Lotho snorted.  
  
“Well, I couldn’t say,” Hob said. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. This talk of Merry and Sam made him ache. He let his head rest against his knees. Lotho and Hob went on talking but the grief in Frodo's heart was deep enough to let him block out their words. 

<>O<>O<>O<>   

It was long past time for supper, Sam realized, but none of them wanted to pause the search. They’d been at it for hours and hadn’t found even the smallest clue. They’d checked the more expected places, lock boxes and old jewelry cases. But so far, nothing. Sam entered Frodo’s study and went to Merry’s side as he opened a thick leather bound book.

“Nothing in Bilbo’s closets?” Merry asked softly.

“Nay,” Sam sighed.

“His bedroom is next,” Merry murmured and glanced up, “Let’s finish here first." He tipped the book he held up, peering down into the binding.

“You think he hid the ring in a book?” Sam asked.

“Could be,” Merry sighed and opened the book, it fell open to a page where Frodo had stitched swatches of cloth to a page, “I certainly hope he hasn’t. We'll never find it. I picked this book because it’s got oddments bound to pages, like this.” Sam frowned and touched the cloth.

“Wonder what he done that for?”

“Don’t know.” Merry turned the page and they gazed down at a thickly woven mat made from dried grass, also meticulously sewn down to the page.

“Oh,” Sam breathed. Merry blinked and glanced at him.

“Sam?”

“This is a remembrance book, Mr. Merry,” Sam said quietly. Merry paused.

“Did you give him this weaving?” he asked gently. Sam nodded.

“I was a babe still. I’d make these plaits. Loads of them. And I’d give them out. I must have give Mr. Frodo dozens of them,” he laughed softly, trying not to cry, “never knew he kept one.” Merry smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Frodo clings to things that remind him of friends and family. That’s always been so.” Sam nodded and swallowed hard. Merry turned the page and they found another woven plait, shaped like a star. Sam caught his breath. Merry paused a moment, then took the remaining pages, and carefully flipped through them. They were all filled with grass plaits, sometimes two or three on one page.

Sam was powerless to stop himself; he burst into tears. Merry set the book aside and put his arms around Sam. Neither said anything.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Pippin wandered through Bag End, finding himself in Frodo’s room. He crouched down by the book shelf along the wall and leaned back, setting his back against the trunk at the foot of Frodo’s bed and sighed. There were little boxes on the shelf and he made himself take one down and cradle it in his lap. It had a lock on it, and while that would usually spur his curiosity, Pippin felt drained and hollow. He didn’t want to rummage through Frodo’s things.  
  
“Come on now,” he murmured to himself, “you’ve dreamed of this chance.”  
  
It was true. As a child he’d spent vast amounts of energy darting away from the adults when he visited Bag End, so that he could explore the closets and pantrys and bookshelves of the old hole. It was a fascinating place with an air of magic about it. But he would soon be caught. Frodo might catch him and bundle him away to sit with him at the fire and read until Pippin got sleepy or he might take him outside to go walking until Pippin begged to be carried and was worn out by the time they reached Bag End once more.  
  
Bilbo’s strategies for dealing with his exuberance had tended to be focused around bribery- either he’d cook some mouth watering confection or promise to teach Pippin all the swears he could think of. Pippin laughed and leaned back.  
  
“Good old Bilbo,” he whispered. His last memory of the old master came to him, the fateful night of his party. He’d been at Bilbo’s elbow, driven into frenzy by all the excitement, which only fed Bilbo’s own happiness. At long last, Pippin's father had tracked him down and made Pippin sit still in his lap to keep him from running from place to place, after he’d tripped a server and smashed a lantern, nearly setting a young lady’s dress on fire. Being held at the table did little to dampen his mood though. Bilbo was there, telling stories and passing plates of some of the finest party food that Pippin had ever seen. He reached out, grasping a fried mushroom from his father's plate and popped it into his mouth. His father grumbled a bit but when the next plate came, full of little cakes, Paladin reached down and held his grubby hands.  
  
“That’s enough Pippin,” Paladin scolded, “you’ll be sick, lad.”  
  
“Won’t!” Pippin sniffed.  
  
“Oh Paladin let the boy enjoy the party,” Bilbo pressed.  
  
“Did you see him nearly start that fire?”  
  
“That was just a little adventure,” Bilbo said carelessly.  
  
“A rather nasty one for Petunia Brockhouse,” Paladin said. It had been Mrs. Brockhouse’s skirts that had nearly ignited.  
  
“No harm,” Bilbo waved. Paladin sighed.  
  
“I don’t know why I ever expect you to be sensible Bilbo. When you so enjoy being a nuisance to those around you.”  
  
“I don’t enjoy it,” Bilbo said but immediately sipped his beer and demurred, “it’s just that I may as well accept it and if I irritate people with my odd ways then so be it. Alright, I admit, I take some small pleasure in it. Is that so wrong? After all I feel I’ve earned it.”  
  
“No you haven’t,” Paladin said sharply and turned to order another drink. Bilbo carefully took hold of the cake plate and passed it under the table and into Pippin's waiting hands. Paladin turned back, continuing, “Do you think you’re the only hobbit to have ever left the Shire?”  
  
“No,” Bilbo protested, wounded.  
  
“No, and when you came back did you use your new knowledge of the world to help your neighbors? No! You threw parties and irritated people and encouraged their children to be wild.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong in stirring up a little trouble in Hobbiton. Have you been here lately? It’s so dull. If I didn’t provide them gossip, half the gaffers and gammers would have dried up and died years ago.”  
  
“You’re awfully full of yourself Bilbo Baggins,” Paladin said wearily.  
  
“I teach young hobbits about the world outside the Shire. I would think a Took of all hobbits would appreciate that.”  
  
“Educate! You tell exaggerated stories at parties in which you are always the hero.”  
  
“The children love it.”  
  
“The children love it because of the swearing trolls.”  
  
“The trolls said fuck,” Pippin said, pleased, “didn’t they, uncle?” Paladin shot Bilbo and agonized look.  
  
“Bilbo!”  
  
“Pip!” Bilbo hissed, “didn’t I tell you not to say that in front of your father?”  
  
“But you say it in front of my dad all the time!”  
  
“Yes, but it’s alright for me,” Bilbo said.  
  
“No, Bilbo,” Paladin sighed, “you just decided that you are allowed to swear at your Thain. No one ever gave you permission.” Bilbo was about to argue, but the Took held up a hand, adding, “stop teaching my son swears. Please.”  
  
“Fine,” Bilbo agreed. Paladin eyed him.  
  
“You agreed to that very quickly. I suppose you’ve taught him every swear you know.”  
  
“Uncle Bilbo taught me to say fuck in Elvish!” Pippin said proudly. Paladin groaned.  
  
“Thank you Bilbo. My son can now scandalize people in two languages.”  
  
“I taught him the dwarvish word too,” Bilbo noted quickly and went on, “you haven’t seen Frodo lately have you?” But Paladin wasn’t paying him any attention.  
  
“Hey Pip!” he cried, spying the cake plate held on his son's knees under the table, “let’s have it!” Pippin passed it up with a huff. He hadn’t even managed to eat one. “That’s it!” Paladin scowled at Bilbo, and lifted Pippin up, setting him on the ground, “go find your cousin Frodo and stick with him. Frodo at least doesn’t teach you swears and give you nothing but cakes!”  
  
“Alright!” he cried and darted off before his father could change his mind. He found Frodo a short time later, sitting with a few young hobbits at a table under an oak tree. Without so much as a greeting he climbed up into Frodo’s lap and began studying his plate.  
  
“Hullo Pip,” Frodo said amiably, “still hungry?”  
  
“You’ve hardly eaten!” Pippin said, staring up, “are you sick? Or is this just your third plate?” Frodo chuckled.  
  
“I’m just not terribly hungry. Go ahead,” he offered even though Pippin had already begun to help himself to Frodo’s plate.  
  
“Dad said for me to stick with you. He found out about uncle Bilbo teaching me swears.”  
  
“Ah. And how did he find out about that?”  
  
“I said fuck at the table,” Pippin laughed.  
  
“That’s not nice, lad,” Frodo scolded, “you ought not to say such unless you’ve a reason.”  
  
“I was quoting the trolls,” Pippin said around a mouthful of lamb.  
  
“Oh well. That’s alright then,” Frodo said absently, his gaze traveling down the field. He straightened and raised a hand, waving.  
  
“Hullo!” he called. Pippin looked up from Frodo’s plate to see Sam walking toward them, “Come here!” Frodo cried out, cheerfully. Sam came to the table side and sat on the bench. His cheeks were flushed and his gaze a little unfocused. Even at that young age Pippin had recognized the signs of tipsiness. Sam would perhaps not have been used to the fine strong ales on offer at such a grand party. Sam tipped his cap to Frodo.  
  
“Mr. Baggins,” he said. Frodo turned to squint at him.  
  
“Are you teasing me, Sam?”  
  
“No,” Sam said, slightly wounded.  
  
“Then what’s this Mr. Baggins business?” he asked. Sam frowned.  
  
“Dad said as I ought to start calling you that, now you're of age. He said it’s proper.” Frodo snorted.  
  
“You don’t even call Bilbo that!”  
  
“Well Mr. Bilbo is hard headed,” Sam said, then sat up with a blush, “begging your-” but Frodo was laughing.  
  
“Well I’m hard headed too,” Frodo told him, “and anyway, if you call me Mr. Baggins I won’t know you mean me and I’ll just ignore you.” He laughed again and put his arm around Sam, “are you enjoying the party?”  
  
“Yes. It’s very fine,” Sam said.  
  
“You did a lot of the work putting it together. I'm glad that you are getting to enjoy it,” Frodo said warmly. Their talk went on and Pippin tuned it out since it was boring.

“I wonder,” Frodo said after a time, “Now that I’m of age and then when I’m Master of the Hill, can we still go on walks and do silly things like get drunk together?” Sam turned and stared at him. He laughed a little.  
  
“Well,” he said a little uncertainly, “my old Gaffer mightn’t like it much.”  
  
“You can get drunk with me Frodo,” Pippin chirped.  
  
“You scamp, have a might more growing to do,” Sam growled down at him.  
  
“No! Shows what you know! Uncle Bilbo lets me sip his whiskey!” Pippin turned and said with some ferocity as he stared up at Sam. Sam flicked his forehead lightly.  
  
“Lor, this one,” he said. Frodo laughed.  
  
“This one!” he repeated, "you know this one will be Thain someday." Sam snorted.  
  
"Aye well, the way he carries on, I ain't the only one ever give him a cuff or the like. I reckon he won't remember it."  
  
"He is a little beast sometimes," Frodo laughed. Pippin turned away, disgusted with them both, and went back to eating off Frodo’s plate, pointedly ignoring them.   
  
“Sir, do you,” Sam said quietly from behind after a pause, “would you still want to go drinking and walking with me and all, even though your of age? And even when you're Master?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said, equally as quiet, “I may be a little busier, but I’m sure I’d never want to stop spending time with you. As long as you have time for me.”  
  
“I- Well, aye,” Sam said, delight in his voice.  
  
“Even if it’s not as often?”  
  
“Even if it’s not as often!” Sam agreed. Frodo laughed, happy.  
  
“Good! I didn’t want to lose you.” Pippin sat back and looked up to see Sam blushing and entirely focused on Frodo.  
  
“Nay!” Sam murmured, “never that.” Frodo grinned at him and Sam added in a rush, “You’ll not lose me. Not if you go off with thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard!” Frodo let out a peal of laughter.  
  
“Bull, Sam! You’re drunk!”  
  
“I’m not!”  
  
“Then we must work on that,” Frodo said and motioned for a server, “a pitcher of Oatbarton stout please!”

That conversation had stuck with Pippin even though he’d not been paying very close attention to their words at the time. But it had settled in his mind that Frodo must love Sam, and that Frodo was always just a little afraid of those he loved drifting away. It made sense now, that Frodo would have been stuck on that, what with him knowing Bilbo was only hours away from walking out of his life forever.  
  
And now, Frodo had vanished too. There one moment and gone the next. Pippin felt tears trail down his cheeks and he wiped them away.  
  
Frodo wasn’t gone. He hadn’t walked out of their lives.  
  
“Not yet,” Pippin whispered and felt more tears. He wiped these away too, then reached into his pocket and drew out his lock pick. He slipped it into the lock and felt it release within a few seconds. He smiled as he felt a small satisfaction and opened the lock box.  
  
“Not yet!” he sighed.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Merry stood up and wiped his brow. Around him were open boxes and trunks, along with one broken book trolley, all searched, all full of oddments, but no ring. Frodo, Merry decided, must take some sort of perverse pleasure in the disorganization of his possessions. There was no order, and nothing to suggest the value of an object. He had found golden buttons and gems strung together in a necklace, thrown in a box marked crockery- mostly filled with moth eaten weskits, probably Bilbo’s, and foot hair brushes.  
  
He was beginning to feel worried. They couldn’t search all of Bag End in one night and if Frodo had taken it in his head to hide something, there seemed to be little chance of finding it.

Merry sighed, resigned to trying yet another room when he looked up and stopped, frozen where he stood. Before him rose Bilbo’s prized large study window, with an impressive eight panes of glass which usually showed a beautiful view of the flower garden, but now, in its dark depths stood a figure.  
  
It was far too thin to be a hobbit and though it stood absolutely still there was something horrible and wrong about it, even in the way it stood. Merry took a breath, his heart pounding in fear as his eyes traveled up the figure, mostly cloaked in darkness to its face, a face with flesh hanging down over the jaw, its milky eyes glossy and shining from the lighted room as it watched him, leering at him with its dead face. Merry choked and stepped back. It raised a hand to the window with a thump and scratched it's broken curling fingers against the glass.  
  
An instinctual scream bubbled up from within him, but it was stoppered in his throat, so that only tears of fear burned in Merry's eyes. He couldn't move or cry out. He was frozen by it.

From farther down the hall, Merry heard a sudden scream filled with fear and recognized the voice as Pippin’s. Merry stepped back again, jerking his body into motion at the need to go find Pippin, but even as he did, he found that he couldn’t take his eyes away from the horrible sight of the creature, striving to get at him. A moment later Pippin burst into the study, his feet pounding on the wooden floors. Catching sight of the creature at the window, he let out a cry and grabbed Merry by the arm, dragging him into the hall.  
  
“There’s one at the kitchen window as well,” he gasped. Merry shook himself, trembling at the sounds of bone scraping against glass.  
  
“Sam!” Merry shouted but there was no answer. “Samwise Gamgee!” Was he caught too? Was he staring at something in a window, held frozen by fear at the sight of a dead face?  
  
“H-Here sir!” came a faltering voice and Sam came barreling at them from the back hall. “Oh sir! They’re all round!” Together they stood, close in the hall, breathing quickly. Merry felt like a cornered coney.  
  
“Maybe they can't get in,” Sam said trying to look bold as he held aloft a fire poker he had collected, “it didn’t come in through the glass last time.” Yet even as he said it, Merry could see that Sam was putting up a brave front.  
  
“Last time Gandalf’s mark protected you,” Pippin quivered. Merry drew in a breath. _I can’t let anything happen to them. I must protect them,_ he thought. From the kitchen came the sound of breaking glass.  
  
“Get into the library!” Merry shouted and the other two instantly obeyed. Merry ushered them both ahead of him and kicked away the pile of books that served as a doorstop for the heavy wooden doors. Pippin ran to the other side and slid the opposite much larger stack of books aside, and heaved against the solid door until it closed with a crash. Merry pulled down the bolt and slid it into the metal holdings, securing their sanctuary. Together they went to the couch and pushed the heavy thing against the door. They stood, trembling at the sounds beyond. There was something there. Moving, scraping along the floor.  
  
Pippin backed away from the door and turned suddenly rushing to the bookcase near the fireplace. Gingerly he felt among the books and, pushing a leather tome aside pulled a key from its dusty hiding place. Merry frowned and then realized Pippin was locking the entrance to the secret passage. Sure enough, Pippin moved to the bookcase’s side and slid the key into the tiny lock.  
  
“W-We’re going to hide in there?” Sam stammered. Pippin shook his head.  
  
“If we've need, I suppose. But for now, I’m locking it. It might get in from the passage.” His voice was steady but Merry could see Pippin’s hands shaking. Sam wasn’t fairing even as well as that. He was visibly shaking, and even in the dim lamplight Merry could see how pale the gardener was.  
  
There was a sudden cracking thump from the door and a howl of rage as the creature threw itself at the door. Sam let out a cry and stepped back, clasping Pippin’s shoulder in terror. Both were frozen with pale frightened faces and Merry could see that they were moments away from shaking hands and saying their good byes.

“These are sturdy doors,” Merry said softly, “dwarf made. The sturdiest in the Shire. They will protect us.” He watched as Sam eased, letting his hand drop away from Pippin’s shoulder. Pippin took a breath, slowing his heart.

“Bless Bilbo,” he said softly, “and his bad taste.” Sam laughed softly.  
  
“I’m going to build a fire,” he said and went to the fireplace. “More light and warmth and well…” he trailed off. Pippin grimaced. No one wanted to think about trying to fight the thing if it got in. There were already logs and kindling set down in the hearth and within a few moments, Sam had a nice little blaze spreading through the logs.  
  
“It’s going to be-” but Merry broke off suddenly and stared at the door. There came a soft skittering scraping, insistent noise that sent shivers up Merry’s spine. It was still trying to get at them.  
  
Merry took several quick breaths feeling himself begin to panic. He had no weapon beyond Sam’s fire poker and he didn’t think the library held anything that could be used against such a creature. Merry’s eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that might aid them. The scraping was getting louder, more ferocious. _There are more of them out there,_ Merry realized. He stifled a whimper of fear and went to the secret passage, taking the key from Pippin’s hands.  
  
“Get in,” he said, fitting the key into the lock. Pippin shivered and stared at him, his eyes wider and more frightened than Merry had ever seen them. They both knew that if the creature could get through the library door it could get into the passage. The only hope would be that it would lose them; that it couldn’t smell their scent and break in. They could run to the second pantry where the exit was. But then, they would have to go through Bag End to get out. It was quite a ways to the front door.

Pippin opened the passage and was about to step in when Sam stood and went quickly to one of the bookcases and pulled a thin leather bound pamphlet from the shelf and flipped it open, going to stand near the door. He held the book up so that he could see the pages in the dim light of the fire and began to read aloud.

> _Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín_  
>  _menel-vîr síla díriel_  
>  _si loth a galadh lasto dîn!_  
>  _A Hîr Annûn Gilthoniel,_  
>  _le linnon im Tinúviel!_

There was a cry of fury from behind the door, but the scraping ceased. Sam quivered and they all stood in silence.  
  
“What was that?” Pippin whispered in awe. Sam turned and blinked at him.  
  
“It’s just a poem I tried to learn with Mr. Bilbo once,” he whispered back, “He wrote out how the words sound for me, so I could try and say them.”  
  
“Shh,” Merry put a finger to his lips, listening beyond the door. There was a hissed conversation out in the hall. Merry tried to make out words, but he couldn’t. A bang at the door made them all jump, and there was another hiss of words, then the scraping resumed. Sam whimpered and stepped back.  
  
“I just made them mad!” he gasped. Pippin went to him and clung to his arm, drawing him back toward the fireplace.  
  
“Good!” he said, “I’m glad if you’ve made them mad!” They settled by the fire, shivering, still watching the door. Merry went to them, standing as he watched.  
  
It seemed inconceivable that Bag End, this cherished place that had always served as the center of comfort and enjoyment for him and his cousins could be attacked, and attacked by creatures that had no business being outside of tales told by the fire to frighten little lads and lasses.  
  
He turned slightly to look down at Sam and Pippin, huddled together near the fire.  
  
“Read some more, Sam,” Pippin whispered. Sam shook his head.  
  
“I daren’t.”  
  
“Then,” Pippin curled closer , “tell me what the words meant. Do you know? Did Bilbo tell you?”  
  
“Aye,” Sam murmured, and whispered the meaning of the words to the younger hobbit. Merry watched them, feeling a strange grim calm come over him.  
  
_Each of my choices have taken us deeper into peril,_ he thought. _Each one has driven down the chances of bringing Frodo back to safety. I am responsible for this._  
  
He had failed to protect Pippin and Sam and now he had failed Frodo, letting the horror into his cousin’s home to pillage its treasures. The creatures would find the ring, he was sure, and then they would take the only bargaining chip that Merry had for getting his cousin back. Some little piece of hope winked out and Merry began to shake. He would not cry in front of Pippin and Sam, but the thought that Frodo would be killed was too great to bear. He turned back to look down at them, trying to gather his courage and stop his shaking.  
  
Sam glanced up at him, feeling himself watched, and held Merry's gaze a moment. He turned back to the fire, still telling Pippin about the Elf poem he’d read, as he stared into the flames. Merry felt a stab of pain at that blank expression, wondering if he had condemned Sam to a life forever without Frodo.  
  
_But then, his life may not last through the night,_ Merry thought, and shook himself. _No, I'll not let him die tonight. Nor Pippin. I'll find some way out of this_.  
  
But for once, no plan sprang into his mind.

<>O<>O<>O<>   

Sam watched the kindling blacken in the flames, burning slowly away into nothingness. He tried to keep his mind on the fire, afraid that it would wander into darkness, a darkness Sam hadn’t known that he had in himself. The chill had returned harder, cutting into him, lacing around his limbs. He tried to hold his head above the wave of cold and fear and darkness, but it was hard.  
  
He was silent now, having finished telling Pippin about the Elf song. Part of him wanted to continue speaking on Elvish things, for that gave him courage, but he couldn’t muster the strength to do it now. He was so cold. The fire was doing nothing to warm him. He and Frodo had sat in front of this fire that very morning, and looked into each other’s eyes and spoken of love. He had been so warm then, so full of that love.   
  
Tears fell down his cheeks and he scrubbed them away, unhappy with himself. He should be doing something, he told himself- something practical. But he couldn’t think of what.  
  
Pippin wrapped an arm over his shoulder and pulled Sam snug against his chest. Sam took a breath, feeling a little anxious, but let Pippin hold him. Merry took a seat behind him and moved close, embracing him, the three of them curling together. The mist in front of his eyes slowly faded, and fell away. Sam blinked in surprise, and looked at them. Merry and Pippin were watching him, and watching him with an expression of concern and tenderness. Sam held back tears, realizing suddenly that he loved them.  
  
“Thank you, to both of you,” Sam murmured, “you’ve always been so kind to me. And,” he paused, his voice slipping down into a whisper, “true friends to Frodo.” He heard them gasp and bowed his head, shy and overwhelmed with feeling.  
  
“Oh Sam,” Merry laughed softly, “Do you know that I promised myself that I would break out the Old Toby, the first time I heard you call him Frodo,” he reached into his waistcoat, “alas, I’ve only got a bit of Hardbottle Hap.” He sniffed and packed the weed into his pipe none the less and lit it.  
  
“It’s very kind of you all the same,” Sam said politely. Merry nodded. He passed the pipe to Sam and Sam took a draw, then handed it to Pippin.  
  
“Honesty all this fuss just because Sam dropped the Mister,” Pippin chuckled and took a draw, handing the pipe back to Merry. “Am I missing something?”  
  
“Aren’t you usually?” Merry teased, “we’re celebrating the reason he’s gone and dropped the Mister.” Pippin blinked.  
  
“Oh,” he said uncertainly, then his eyes widened, “Oh!” Merry laughed even as Sam felt his cheeks heat. Pippin laughed merrily and clung to Sam’s side. “Really? Well that’s wonderful. Honestly though, it was only a matter of time.”  
  
“No it wasn’t,” Sam said soberly, “it truly was a miracle.” They paused, thoughtful.  
  
“Yes. So then, all the more reason to celebrate,” Merry said quietly. He smoked in silence for a while, and they passed the pipe between them for a time. When they were finished, Merry tamped his pipe on the brick hearth and put it away. He held himself still, then took a breath and looked up, holding their attention. His eyes were bright.  
  
“When those things come through the door, I want you both to get into the passage. Lock it behind you and go until you can get out into the hall. Make for the backdoor and run. Don’t look back. I will stay in here and waylay them.” Sam drew in a surprised breath. Pippin let out a soft cry.  
  
“Merry? No,” he said.  
  
“You can’t do that Mr. Merry. We'll not hear of it,” Sam murmured, his voice gruff.  
  
“You must see that we are in a very bad way,” Merry said softly, “and I want to protect you both. It’s what Frodo would want too.”  
  
“Nay, Mr. Merry,” Sam said, “no he wouldn’t. He would never stand for a plan like that and you know it.” Merry drew a breath and set his jaw.  
  
“It’s the best chance,” Merry breathed, “Frodo might not stand for such a plan, but if he were given a choice, I think even he would see that two alive is better than all of us dead.” They all quieted, and the relentless clawing was the only sound for a moment. Sam took a breath, pausing before he spoke.  
  
“Mr. Frodo didn’t tell you this, but I think you need to hear it. The other night in the woods, we never did tell you how those creatures got him outside.” The two gentlehobbit paused, blinking at him. Pippin frowned.  
  
“He said they charmed him, made him go out, like that night in Bag End,” he said slowly.  
  
“Well it weren’t quite like that,” Sam sighed, “those things called him out, true, but they done it with Mr. Merry’s voice.” Merry went ridged and clasped Sam’s arm.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Aye,” Sam said meeting his eyes, “we kept that back. T’would only have hurt you to know. But I think you need to hear this now. They called him with your voice and made him think you were out there alone and hurt and in deep peril. I never seen Mr. Frodo in such a desperate panic. I couldn’t get him to hear me hardly. He was lost to it so deep and so quick cause he couldn’t bear harm coming to you.” Merry stifled a sob pressing a hand over his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. “Oh Mr. Merry, I’m sorry,” Sam breathed and put his arms around the other hobbit, “I didn’t want to pain you. But you did ought to know how far Mr. Frodo will go to protect you. How he loves you. It would fair kill him if you done something like what you said.” He drew Merry closer and Merry pressed his face to Sam’s shoulder. “And I’m thinking, it isn’t our way. Some people might say yes, let one die to save others at the cost of that one. That does make some sense. But not for us. Not yet anyway.”  
  
“That’s right,” Pippin said, “we stick together. It’s just how we are. And we must, don’t you see? For it will take all of us to rescue Frodo.”  
  
“You think that we can still rescue him?” Merry cried softly, his voice raw and vulnerable.  
  
“Yes,” Sam whispered.  
  
“Yes,” Pippin said, “I think that we must act in hope. We’ve still a chance you see. We’re quiet and quick and we know Bag End. Let’s don’t do anything in despair. There’s no call for it.” Merry’s tears came harder and Sam rubbed his back.  
  
“I know, Mr. Merry, I saw your face when those things came and trapped us in here. You think it’s all lost. That without that ring to bargain for, that Mr. Frodo is beyond hope. And us too, maybe. But I’m starting to see that there is something apart or beyond that. I can’t tell what it is yet. Maybe it’s just my own stubbornness. But whatever it is, I’m going to follow after it. Cause it’s leading me towards him, you understand.”  
  
“We’ll follow Frodo,” Pippin said, “that’s what you told me. And so we will. He would want us to be brave and to protect each other. And that’s what I mean to do.”  
  
“Alright you two,” Merry said through a broken voice, “you have convinced me.”  
  
There came a splintering crack. Merry gasped and sprang up, grabbing for the fire poker.  
  
“Come,” he said softly. The door was holding, but the cracking sound could not be a good thing. Sam and Pippin were up. “Now for it,” Merry breathed, “we go together!” The door splintered, and there came a chilling cry of satisfaction from the other side. But Merry did not look to the door, but at his friends. Sam met his eyes.  
  
“Together!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is reading Lúthien's Song. Translation and more about that [here](https://www.elfdict.com/phrases/1-sindarin/26-luuthiens_song#!1813)
> 
> Ever since I noticed it, I've thought Sam and Pippin's relationship was sweet. In Fellowship, Pippin teases Sam a good bit and at first it sort of seems like he's just being a little shit, but it seems like as things go on, I think there's a little more respect there. When the wolves surround them before they get to Moria, Pippin tells Sam how afraid he is and Sam offers him some comfort. And later he asks Sam about some of the things he gets to see because Sam is always trailing along with Frodo whenever Frodo is invited to go look at something special. It's just nice and it's not something I noticed for a long time.


	21. Gambles

Fatty slowed his pony and stared down the long dark road ahead. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.  
  
“Mr. Fatty?” Hamson whispered as he drew near on his pony. Fatty raised a hand and Hamson fell silent. A tall figure walked out into the road ahead of them and moved forward. Hamson cried out in alarm, but Fatty had already recognized the Man in the lane. It was Halbarad, and coming up behind him in the shadows came Aglaril. Fatty let out a sigh of relief. The man halted near their ponies and met Fatty's gaze.  
  
“There are a lot of hobbit on the roads in this section,” Halbarad said, “what is happening?”  
  
“Frodo was taken by the Man,” Fatty said and quickly told them what had happened. Aglaril frowned.  
  
“Even so, it is not good for there to be so many hobbits out like this at night. There are evil things in the shadows.”  
  
“Are the creatures near at hand?” Fatty asked softly, far thrilling through him. He couldn't bear the idea of one of his search parties being killed. The two Watchers looked grim.  
  
“We don't know. We were led on a false trail,” Halbarad said, “we had hoped to find Mr. Baggins after nightfall and stay near to him.”  
  
“Maybe you ought to have just done that to start with,” Hamson cried. The two Watchers glanced at him.  
  
“None of that,” Fatty said to the other hobbit.  
  
“The creatures are not idle during the day. And we are not body guards,” Aglaril said quietly.  
  
“I am sorry,” Fatty said to them, “we understand that. Nerves are just a little frayed here.”  
  
“Mr. Fatty! Hamson!”  
  
Fatty turned and saw Marigold and Daisy, both riding together on a pony, coming towards them.  
  
“Here!” Fatty called.  
  
“Excuse us,” Halbarad said, “we will continue our hunt. I would advise you getting these hobbits in their holes. It is not safe.”  
  
“They know that,” Fatty said quietly, “but they want to help find Frodo, even so.” Halbarad peered at him, silent.  
  
“Mr. Fatty!” Marigold cried as they came up beside them, “you must come to Bag End. There's creatures.” Fatty turned in surprise.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What creatures?” Halbarad demanded. Daisy jumped in alarm and clutched tight to her sister, startled by the Man.  
  
“The dead things,” Marigold said in a hard voice, “And not just them. Daisy and I charged up there to stop them, but then those wolves came and chased us away.”  
  
“Why ever did you even try it?” Fatty demanded. “No one is up there and Frodo would be sick to know that you tried to step in the way of such creatures.”  
  
“But that’s just it, sir! Bag End isn’t empty! Our Sam is up there, along with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin.”  
  
“What!” Fatty gasped, “they’re supposed to be riding the roads! Frodo wasn’t at Bag End! Whatever are they still doing there?”  
  
“Now that I don’t know,” Marigold said, “but they’re in Bag End. And so are those dead creatures.”  
  
They wasted no more time, riding hard back toward Hobbiton. The Watchers moved with incredible speed, sprinting almost as quickly as the ponies. Before long they came into Hobbiton and Halbarad made a quick stop at the stables to retrieve several sets of irons, used normally to fasten around an ox for heavy pulling. They would have ridden on, but the Watcher commanded them to stay.  
  
“You can't go up there. You do not understand these creatures,” he told them, “this will not take long.” He went into the stable, leaving the hobbits to stand waiting in the cold. Fatty stepped closer to Daisy and Marigold.  
  
“How did this all happen?” he asked quietly, “I thought you two were riding out south around Bywater?”  
  
“We were, but we circled up to the road and happen to see a group of hobbits riding back toward Hobbiton, our Dad among them. We put him on our pony and took him back to Number Three. As we did we looked up at the Hill and saw candles lit. Even spied Mr. Merry and Sam up there, moving from room to room. Mr. Merry had some business up there and took Sam up when we left them to come find you, you know. Whatever that business was, it seems to have held them there all this time. Must be mighty important cause Sam would not be up there otherwise. Nor the others of course.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“So, once we got Dad settled, me and Daisy come back out and we were about to ride back to Bywater, when we saw someone moving up the hill, only they was moving all wrong, or at least, not moving the way a hobbit moves. So we watched, feeling very afraid, and that's when we saw more of them and knew it must be those dead things that Sam and Mr. Frodo met. Well, we got our clubs and Dad's scythe and went up there.”  
  
“That was very brave.”  
  
“I afraid we didn't get very far,” Daisy sighed, “we were only half way up the Hill before two wolves come out and forced us back. Wouldn't let us get close at all.”  
  
“I had a torch, and I tried to burn them,” Marigold said softly, “it was the only thing they seemed at all concerned about, and even then, one of them snapped their jaws and broke it.”  
  
“We realized we needed help,” Daisy said, “and not just hobbit help. We hoped we could find you Mr. Fatty, since we knew you were supposed to be just south of Hobbiton, and we hoped you might have a way to contact the Watchers. I'm just so glad we found all of you so quickly. I'm so very afraid for those lads up there.”  
  
“Well, if any hobbits can keep themselves safe against such foul things, it is those three. Remarkably resilient, all three.” Halbard and Aglaril emerged from the stables, chains strung across their shoulders. They put them on Fatty's pony and together they set off for Bag End.  
  
“Oh dear,” Fatty said quietly, “I only hope we're not too late.”

<>O<>O<>O<>

Frodo leaned against the wooden wall and sagged.  
  
“No,” he said softly. The Man sighed. They were both tired of this game.  
  
“Alright, Mr. Baggins,” Volund said, “I have a very simple way of getting what I want, even without your cooperation.” Frodo only looked at him, too exhausted to do anymore. _He's trying to wear me down,_ Frodo thought. “I will go to your home and burn it to the ground.” Frodo snorted.  
  
“And destroy what it is you are looking for no doubt,” he said. The Man smiled.  
  
“I think not.”  
  
Frodo sighed.  
  
_Now I know whatever he's after, I don't have it,_ he thought, _my little magic ring would melt in such a fire. So would everything else I own._  What a fire that would be. Bag End would become a roaring inferno; all that wood and paper and dust, not to mention the odd firework stashed away.  
  
_But the ring. That is an idea,_ he thought, holding himself still. _If I had that..._  
  
“Erm, I’m sorry,” Lotho said, “there is a reason for you not to burn Bag End- it’s going to be mine. What am I supposed to do with a burned out smial?”  
  
“You could rebuild it, surely.”  
  
“No, it wouldn’t be Bag End. The whole point is to get Bag End! It’s what I want and it’s what my mother wants and it’s what my father spent his whole life wanting. You will not burn it.”  
  
“Convince Mr. Baggins, then.”  
  
“Frodo,” there was desperation in Lotho's voice, “don’t make him burn that beautiful smial.”  
  
_Go carefully with this,_ Frodo told himself.  
  
“If,” he said carefully, “if I tell you where it is, what will you do?”  
  
“Well,” Volund said slowly, “I can't very well leave you lot. I'll have to send some of my associates.”  
  
“Those men?” Lotho asked. Volund sent him a look.  
  
“No,” he said, “their contracts are up. From here on out I need more skilled individuals. They are on their way. You may meet some of them before the night is out. Otherwise they've been told to proceed to your little country estate on the river, Mr. Lotho.”  
  
“You told Big People where I live?” Lotho asked.  
  
“It's part of the deal we signed. They are the fellows from the south who have the boat. They'll see that the weed is carried down to Sarn Ford once you have a crop for us.”  
  
“Oh,” Lotho said quietly.  
  
“And you would send these employees of yours to my home to collect my treasure?” Frodo asked. Volund turned back to him.  
  
“You are very interested in my business.”  
  
“Not at all,” Frodo sniffed, “but if ruffians are to be in my home I want to know. I don't want them rooting through my things.”  
  
“Understandable, I suppose. Though, you really do worry about silly things, Mr. Baggins.”  
  
“Some people find us to be irredeemably silly.”  
  
“Frodo stop talking in circles. It's not amusing anymore,” Lotho snapped, “just tell him! Please?” Frodo paused for a long moment.  
  
“I'm not doing it for either of you,” he said, “but for Bag End. Bilbo left it to me and I love it. If it will all end the same way, then I don't want it burned.”  
  
“Thank you, Frodo,” Lotho sighed in relief.  
  
“I have conditions,” Frodo said, and Lotho groaned, “first if your men encounter any hobbits on the Hill or nearby they are not to harm them, nor engage with them at all.”  
  
“But your lot are guarding that place!” Lotho scowled.  
  
“They might not be. And if they are, then these employees of yours are skilled, aren't they? Let them be buglers.”  
  
“I think your condition can be met,” Volund said.  
  
“Second,” Frodo said, “there will be no rooting through my things. They will take precisely what I tell you to take. Actually, that may be advantageous to you as well.” Volund's eyes narrowed and he was silent.  
  
“Third,” Frodo said and Lotho cursed, “third, upon delivery of the item in question, you let me open it and present its contents to you. You'll find your treasure then. But there are certain spells, you see. Protections, so that only I can access it.”  
  
“Rubbish!” Lotho spat. Volund raised a hand.  
  
“You know my home was marked with a sign of protection,” Frodo said softly, “well, that was only the beginning of my safeguards. Do you really think my Wizard friend would leave something so powerful in my possession without granting me such?” the Man stilled, his eyes blazing.  
  
“I agree to your conditions,” he said softly, “but know that I can make you suffer pain beyond anything that any hobbit has felt if you cross me. I have ways to assure that you cooperation when the item arrives. Do you understand?”  
  
“Perfectly,” Frodo said. The silence bore down on them, “tell your associates to go in through the back door. They will go down the hall and take the second right. That is my bedroom. They are to take the trunk at the foot of my bed and they are not to try and open it. No one but myself can open it, or death will fall on them.”  
  
“Lor,” Hob gasped. Lotho smacked him. Frodo took a breath as he watched the satisfaction light up the Man's face. He held himself still.  
  
_Bilbo was a burglar. I must be one too,_ Frodo thought, _get my hands in that trunk and secret the ring into my pocket. Then slip it on when he's not watching me. He can threaten me all he likes. I know he's taking me to a very dark future. At least this way I have some hope._  
  
“Very well, Mr. Baggins.”

<>O<>O<>O<>

Fatty stood shaking in the night. It had happened so quickly. They had barely dismounted at the bottom of the Hill, when eyes in the darkness had drawn near. The Watchers cried a warning and their blades were out.  
  
Now Fatty stood, holding the bridals of the poor ponies, standing behind a tree- as if it would protect them- while the sounds of battle and snarls rang out into the night. The Gamgees were with him, fairing a bit better. They had gone quickly to Number Three and picked up various armaments- Marigold had a hatchet, Hamson a staff, and Daisy a scythe. They had warned thier father to stay inside. The rest of the Row was locked up tight too.  
  
There was a yelp and then silence. Fatty stiffened and opened his eyes. To his shame he realized he'd been standing covering his ears, with his eyes squeezed shut.  
  
“We've driven them off!” Halbarad called.  
  
“Thank the stars,” Daisy breathed. Marigold went out from their little hiding place and the others soon followed. Fatty passed the pony reigns to Hamson and bid him to take them to the stables. The chains were unloaded and shared out between the Gamgee sisters and Fatty. As he went out into the land he found the two Watchers cleaning their swords. Three massive wolf carcasses lay around them.  
  
“Three?” Fatty asked. Aglaril nodded.  
  
“The others are gone. For now,” she said. Fatty repressed the urge to ask what would happen if the others came back. He didn't want to know.  
  
“Ready to take the Hill?” Halbarad asked them. Fatty stilled his shaking.  
  
_This is worse than mad, but I'm going to do it,_ he thought and tried to conjure up his anger. Deep anger was really the only thing that could raise true fierceness in him.  
  
“No one has to,” Aglaril said, fixing him in her gaze. Fatty quivered but met her eyes.  
  
“I may not be able to make the grand gestures. Its just not in me. But I can do the small things. And whatever can be done with my ability to aid my friends I will do it.” Aglaril watched him. “I know, small hobbit courage is nothing compared to what is in your hearts. We are cowards compared to that. But let us try. Let us fight for our friends and our home.” Aglaril glanced at Halbarad and then back down at Fatty.  
  
“Whatever you are,” she said quietly, “I don’t think you are a coward.”  
  
“We’re helping too,” Marigold said, “it’s our brother in there.”  
  
The Watchers nodded and Fatty noted their eyes went to Hamson as he rejoined the group. Daisy turned and looked up at her brother. He looked green in the face but resolutely gripped his stick.  
  
"Aye. Are we going then?" he asked.   
  
“Not you, lad,” Daisy told him. Hamson blinked and opened his mouth. “Nay now. You’ve the babe and Prim to think of.”  
  
“He’s my brother too,” Hamson protested weakly.  
  
“Yes but this sort of thing is a bit much, isn’t it?” Marigold asked.  
  
“You just leave this to us,” Daisy said gently, “we’ll get Sam back.”  
  
Hamson dittered only a moment more, then nodded. He retreated back to Number Three, promising to look after their father. With that, the two Watchers and three hobbits crept up the Hill.  
  
“Stay behind us,” Aglaril told them in a whisper, “try not to draw attention to yourself.  
  
“Very well,” Fatty said faintly.  
  
“When we pin one of them down, you hobbits take the irons and bind them.”  
  
“You aren’t going to kill them?” Fatty asked. Halbarad laughed.  
  
“We can’t kill such creatures. Their bodies are already dead.”  
  
“Then...?”  
  
“For now, binding them is sufficient. If we manage that, then you will see what may be done,” Aglaril told him.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And mind the chains. Don't let them rattle and give us away. We need to surprise them.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Together they moved up, easing into the garden and up to the back door. It was locked but Daisy produced a key, which slid into the lock and opened silently. The Watchers passed inside, their weapons out. Fatty stepped inside with the Gamgees, and peered down the hall.  
  
It was a nightmare staring back at him. Cold shining eyes turned to look at him from the darkness and inhuman grating voices echoed in his ears. The two Watchers charged down the hall, Halbarad's sword catching the light from the hobbit’s lanterns. The dead rose up and met them.  
  
Halbarad stationed himself in front of the cluster of creatures and held a shield against their clawing hands. Aglaril impaled one of them on her spear and dragged it down to the floor, pinning it with the weight of her boot. Fatty sucked in a breath and charged forward, the Gamgee sisters behind him.  
  
They threw the irons over the creature and bound it fast with their clever hands. The thing hissed death at them, but Fatty was caught in a spell of excitement. _It’s just the way that Bilbo always described it!_ he managed to think before they moved onto the second creature.  
  
If the hall had not acted as a bottleneck to hold the creatures until they could be skewered one by one, they would had been quickly surrounded. As it was, their work proceeded without terrible danger and after a time there were seven snarling creatures bound together in the hallway. Aglaril and Halbarad went to help the hobbit then, adding rope binding to secure the creature's hands and feet. Once they were bound together to their satisfaction, the two Watchers drug the snarling mass to the back door. Fatty and the Gamgee sisters stood, all of them shaking now that the deed was done, and they went quickly down the hall to the library door, where the creatures had been clustered. It was splintered, but still held firm when they tried it.  
  
“Hello? Merry?” Fatty called, “Pip! Sam!” They waited but there was no answer.  
  
“Hey there! Sam!” Daisy shouted, “are you in there, you lads?” There was a soft sound behind them and they turned to see Pippin and Sam peeking out from the second guest bedroom. Marigold let out a cry and ran to Sam. He caught his breath and picked her up, lifting his sister over the splintered wood and set her down before hugging her close. Daisy went to him and put her arm around his back.  
  
“Fatty!” Merry cried as he came into the hall and ran to him, throwing his arms around the other hobbit. Fatty clasped Merry close.  
  
“How did you know?” Pippin cried, drawing close as well, taking Fatty's hand.  
  
“That you were in danger?” Fatty asked, “Marigold and Daisy. They spotted the creatures and tried to fight them, then came to find help when they couldn’t get to you."  
  
“You fought those things?” Sam demanded. Marigold looked up at him.  
  
“You was up here,” she said. Sam blinked and patted her curls. Marigold smiled, then drew in a breath, adding, “don’t go telling Dad now!” And Sam laughed.

<>O<>O<>O<>

The Watchers drug the creatures out of Bag End and through the garden. Sam felt an almost physical pain watching the dead grasping limbs dragging against the soil of his garden.  
  
“Where does the sun touch first?” Aglaril asked Merry. Merry blinked and turned to Sam. Sam drew himself up and tried to make himself answer.  
  
“That field down there,” Halbarad said, “it will gain the sun as it rises.” He was pointing down to the Party Field.  
  
“Not there!” Sam cried. Merry jumped and turned to look at him but Sam was staring up at Man.  
  
“You can’t take those things into our Party Field.”  
  
“I’m afraid it’s quite urgent,” the Man said with barely contained impatience.  
  
“Nay,” Sam pressed, “we’re doing all this to protect the places we love. That field is loved. You can’t drag that filth out there and let them blight it. I’ll show you a back field on the other side of the Party Field. It gains the sun just as quick. It will mean a bit of a longer walk, but I beg you,” Sam said, “even if you don’t understand it the way we do, please trust that we hobbits are tied to these places.” The Man was silent then nodded.  
  
“If that is what you wish.”  
  
The Gamgee sisters had offered to stay at the Hill, to tidy it and guard it while they went down to the fields with the Watchers. Sam had felt a pang of worry, but made himself press it down. The creatures were bound now. It was alright. Marigold had passed him her hatchet and kissed his cheek as he left.  
  
Now, they walked in silence, Sam leading the way. He took them down through the lane and passed over a slight ridge until they could walk along the hedge line, heading toward the back fields. They passed an opening in the hedge and Sam glanced out into the Party Field. There was a broken down tent and small heaps of refuse littered around the tent. He scowled. At least the Shirriffs seemed to have cleared off.   
  
They entered the back field soon and Sam took the Watchers to the center, watching as Halbarad used his spear to stake the squirming pile of bound creatures. Sam watched them at a distance, shivering.  
  
“Will the sunlight kill them?” he asked quietly. Aglaril glanced at him.  
  
“You could say that,” she said, “if they were alive to begin with.” Sam nodded. “But before morning, we have some things to ask them.”  
  
“Think they would tell you aught?” Sam frowned. She laughed.  
  
“No. Nothing they don't want us to know. But,” she paused, “they might tell us something to taunt us. Something valuable. It's happened before.”  
  
“Could they tell us where Mr. Frodo is?” Sam murmured, “they could always find him seems like. Eventually, anyway.”  
  
“They might know that,” Aglaril said gently, “but please don't get your hopes up that way.”  
  
“We need to find him. Won't you ask them? Now that they won't get at him, maybe they'll tell you? Maybe they won't like the idea of someone else getting him,” Sam said quietly. The woman gazed down at him.  
  
“I will ask for you,” she said.  
  
“Thank you,” Sam nodded. He walked back to the edge of the field where Merry and Pippin and Fatty were clustered.   
  
"They're sorted," Sam said and Merry nodded.  
  
“Right. Then we need to decide what we are doing,” he said softly.  
  
“Doing?” Pippin asked.  
  
“We're going to find Mr. Frodo,” Sam said.  
  
“Yes of course, but,” Merry sighed, “alright, I see three things we can do- first we can go back up to Bag End and keep searching. Perhaps some of us get some sleep. Or we can set out for the South Farthing. Or,” he sighed, “we can stay here with the Watchers and see if they can get any information about Frodo from these creatures.”  
  
“You think they can do that?” Pippin asked. Merry shrugged.  
  
“They seem to think so. Look at them. They're asking them all sorts of things.”  
  
“Miss Aglaril said she'd ask them where Mr. Frodo was,” Sam said.  
  
“I suppose,” Fatty said doubtfully.  
  
“Well, what do we want to do?” Pippin asked, "searching Bag End is out I think. As much as that seems like a promising idea. There's too much! We could search it for ten years and not find anything. I think we've met our match there.”

“I agree,” Merry sighed, “setting out for the South Farthing now feels right, but we don’t know where he is. Even if he has gone to Lotho's property, he has so much land and several holes and homes. If we don’t guess correctly, I have a feeling we will miss our chance and Frodo will be gone.”  
  
"Yes," Fatty murmured, "and even if we stumble on him, there will be trouble. Trouble that I don't think we can handle." Merry nodded.

“This is a heist. We must burgle Frodo,” he said slowly and turned to Pippin, “uncle Bilbo said there were two elements to a heist.”  
  
“A distraction and a skilled hand,” Pippin breathed.  
  
“We are the skilled hand. We can slip in and take him back. But we’ve no distracting element.”  
  
“I am amazing at distraction,” Pippin said excitedly but Merry shook his head.  
  
“In this case, our target is dangerous, and not anything that you can face. No. Our distraction is those two,” he said, pointing to the Watchers.  
  
“Nothing doing there,” Fatty sighed, “I’ve already tried. They still say this matter is not their concern.”  
  
“I don’t understand it!” Sam cried, “it’s too cold-hearted!”  
  
“I know,” Merry soothed, “but never the less, we must have them for this to work. Perhaps they’ll learn something from these creatures that will convince us that this plot is larger than they think. And that this conjurer is an agent of their so called enemy.”  
  
“Well I’ll not leave it to chance!” Sam cried and set off into the field. He glanced back at Merry, “you sure it’s them we need?” Merry nodded, eyes wide. Sam turned away, walking quickly across the field to the Watchers. As he neared, the dead turned their faces toward him and he was rooted to spot by the sudden hunger in their eyes.  
  
_Lor, they remember me,_ Sam stiffened, but forced himself to walk closer. The Watchers turned to him.  
  
“Don’t come near, young hobbit,” Aglaril said, "there is some mischief in them still."  
  
“Nay I must,” Sam said, though he was shaking, “we need you to help us get Mr. Frodo back.” The two exchanged glances. “I know you say it’s not your concern. But you come here cause he asked you for help! Can’t you help him then? If these things was set on taking him off, then why are you letting it happen? Aye, it’s a different enemy, but it’s an evil either way. Don’t you think it might be all for the same reason? So isn’t Mr. Frodo worth protecting?” Sam drew in a breath, tears in his eyes, “he is. I can tell you that. Can’t you understand?” He sucked in a breath, suddenly aware that Merry and Pippin and Fatty were standing behind him. The Watchers were silent for a long moment.  
  
“We can’t leave these creatures. Not while they might yet cause harm,” Halbarad said.  
  
“And fighting a conjurer is not something that we can do,” Aglaril said. She sighed and turned to the other Watcher, “but we could help track him, couldn’t we? Once we are finished here?” Halbarad considered this.  
  
“It would mean a delay of what, a day or two? Yes. I think we can do that.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam gasped, stunned.  
  
“Perhaps we will learn something more," Aglaril said, "I've been thinking that it does seem too much of a coincidence. I thought it was a separate matter at first, but the more I see of these hobbits, the more I've come to realize that two deadly forces descending on the same hobbit at the same time is extraordinary for them.”  
  
"Well of course!" Pippin cried. The two sent him an amused look.  
  
"So you'll really help? You'll help us find Mr. Frodo?" Sam said, trying not to cry.  
  
“Yes. We will set out after our business here is done. In the meantime, I advise you all to sleep. For we will travel quickly tomorrow.” The hobbits glanced at one another.  
  
"These creature might tell them something in the night," Sam said softly, "if they say where he is, then I'm going. The Watchers and whoever else can catch up."  
  
“But does that small possibility outweigh the certain good that sleep will do us?" Merry asked gently and turned to the rest of them, "Anyone who wants to sleep must feel free to. We don't need to prove anything to one another. We all know one another's hearts in this matter.”  
  
“We'll be of better use to Frodo if we have our wits and our strength,” Pippin nodded, "and we can be down south quickly if we ride hard."  
  
“Aye but,” Sam sighed, “I just feel so sick. I don't think I can sleep.” They sank into silence.  
  
“I hate to propose anything,” Merry said slowly, “I've been so rotten at plotting lately.”  
  
“That just means you're due to break your unlucky streak,” Pippin laughed. Merry smiled at him.  
  
'Alright. How about this? Some of us go up to Bag End. Get proper sleep in a bed. And those of us not up at Bag End, stay down here. Just in case."  
  
“Well I'm afraid I need sleep,” Fatty sighed, “I'm not going to be any use otherwise.”  
  
“Then sleep,” Merry said and leaned over, clasping Fatty's hand, “and thank you again. We are alive because of you.”  
  
“Oh, nonsense,” Fatty said quickly and Merry laughed.  
  
“Who else?”  
  
“I'm staying down here,” Sam said quietly.  
  
“I think I am too,” Merry nodded and turned to Pippin. The young hobbit sighed.  
  
“I'm wretchedly tired, but I just know I won't sleep if I go up there. I don't think I can feel quite right in Bag End for a bit.”  
  
“Oh,” Merry murmured. Pippin met his eyes.  
  
“You're welcome to my bed at Number Three,” Sam said quietly, “it's not posh, but it's homey and nice.” Pippin blinked, considering this.  
  
“I want to be with you two,” he said after a moment, “though I do thank you. And I'm very sure if I weren't so daft that I'd sleep very well there. But I need company more I think. And I camp enough that it won't be a problem sleeping out here.”  
  
“Alright. We'll bring down some gear and blankets and settle in.”

<>O<>O<>O<>

Fatty walked slowly back through the Party Field and glanced to the side, spotting a cluster of holly bushes. He blinked and turned back to the path, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes. That cluster of bushes was where he'd sat through most of Bilbo's final party, sampling all the best things that the Shire had to offer. He had been so happy that day, glad to be among his friends and enjoying immensely all the cheer and fun that Frodo seemed to be having.  
  
His table near the bushes has been a special place of honor, afforded to him as one of Frodo's best friends, in fact. He'd shared that table with Merry- though Merry was up dancing so often that he hadn't seen much of him, several old Tooks- friends of Bilbo's- and also Gandalf the Wizard.  
  
As the afternoon had grown old, Fatty's attention was caught by a sudden cry and then a young boy was barreling out of a crowd, heading right for him. Fatty stood up and caught the boy as he jumped up into his arms.  
  
"What’s this?” Fatty asked, holding Pippin against his hip. The young Took hid his face and let out a string of muffled unintelligible words. Frodo burst from the crowd, red faced and muttering as he came to a halt in front of them.  
  
“Fine! Run to Fatty,” Frodo said through his teeth, “I don’t want to see you for a while.”  
  
“Harsh,” Fatty said, glancing down at Pippin, “what did you do?” Pippin remained obstinately silent.  
  
“The little nusience bit me!” Frodo supplied.  
  
“Bit you!” Fatty cried, “why would you bite Frodo? Hm? He’s a nice chap.” Pippin sniffed and clung tighter.  
  
“Mushrooms,” he wailed.  
  
“Ah!” Fatty laughed and looked at Frodo, “Did you try to take a mushroom from this sweet babe?”  
  
“They were my mushrooms, Fatty,” Frodo said in a low dangerous voice. Fatty laughed. Frodo’s frown deepened. “Needlehole truffles,” he hissed. Fatty’s smile vanished.  
  
“Pip, you beast,” he said, “you know when Frodo was younger he was nearly mauled by dogs and that was only for stealing bay boletes. Now, truffles! That deserves something a bit more harsh.”  
  
“No no no no,” Pippin wailed. Fatty smiled and took him to the table, taking a seat once more, Pippin still in his arms.  
  
“Lucky for you my family has sworn an oath to your protection. So you sit with me young Took, and Fredegar Bolger will guard you from the terrible wrath of Mad Baggins the Younger.”  
  
“Just keep him away from me,” Frodo snapped and turned, disappearing into the crowd again. Fatty chuckled and turned his attention to the hobbit sitting in his lap.  
  
“You naughty Took. How could you bite Frodo? You must apologize to him, but not just now, hey? Let’s give him a while to cool off. I do hope this teaches you not to take mushrooms from a hobbit. And in particular from Frodo.”  
  
“Yes,” Pippin said softly, uncurling himself to study the table before him.  
  
“Are you still hungry?” Fatty asked and Pippin nodded, gazing across the line of plates.  
  
“Yes,” Pippin hummed, his eyes roving over the dishes.  
  
“Well, let's get you a plate started,” Fatty began, but Pippin lunged forward, reaching across the table to snatch a little cake from the plate next to them. The plate was Gandalf's, and the wizard turned to peer down at them.  
  
“No! Pip!” Fatty cried, catching the child and smacking his hand to make him let go of the cake. Pippin instead, popped it into his mouth and chewed belligerently. “What did we just talk about?”  
  
“Mushrooms,” Pippin said with his mouth still full. Fatty groaned at looked up at the Wizard, watching them with amusement.  
  
“Oh Mr. Gandalf I am sorry! I’ll get them to bring you another,” Fatty cried, “we’re trying to teach him better but he’s a bit spoiled. I do apologize!” The wizard leaned down to Pippin’s level and eyed the boy, frowning darkly at him. Pippin went still.  
  
“Stealing from a wizard,” Gandalf growled, “very dangerous.” He held the scowl for a moment more, then spoiled it by winking. Pippin giggled and jumped up standing in the chair.  
  
“I am Pippin the Great, and I steal from whoever I want to!” he crowed. Fatty groaned. Gandalf gave a hearty laughter.  
  
“I think we’ve another burglar on our hands!”  
  
“Oh sir, don’t encourage him,” Fatty sighed and pulled Pippin back down.  
  
“I’m afraid Mr. Bolger that I have been encouraging frowned upon behavior in hobbits for too many years to stop now.”  
  
“Be it on your head, sir,” Fatty snorted. Gandalf looked thoughtful and sank into silence. Fatty felt instantly bad. He didn’t know what he’d said but he was very sorry for it. “Mr. Gandalf, we had a very good year for Old Toby,” Fatty said gently, “would you like some? Here! I’ve an extra packet,” he drew his weed pouch and held the bundle out, “please, I insist!” Gandalf considered the offer then nodded.  
  
“You are very kind, Mr. Bolger,” he said and took the packet, secreting it in his robes. “There is nothing finer I like than a good smoke with friends.”  
  
“That’s exactly my feelings as well,” Fatty said, cheered to see Gandalf smile once more. The wizard peered at him.  
  
“Have you been friends with the Bagginses long?” he asked. Fatty nodded.  
  
“Oh yes. Frodo and I have been friends since before he came to live with Bilbo.”  
  
“As long as that? Very good. I suppose then you have come to terms with their adventuresomeness?” Fatty snorted.  
  
“I suppose I have.”  
  
“Good. Good,” the wizard paused, “and what do you think about going off into the Blue?”  
  
Fatty squinted suspiciously at the wizard.  
  
“Are you trying to go recruiting for adventures again sir?” Gandalf laughed.  
  
“Well! Not at the moment.” And he gave Fatty a very keen look.  
  
“None of that for me!” Fatty sputtered.  
  
“Are you sure? Bilbo said much the same.”  
  
“No. I’ve told Frodo I adore him, but I’m not leaving the Shire if you and he decide on some mad adventure someday. Bolgers aren’t made for such things.”  
  
“I see,” Gandalf relented and gazed out across the fields. Fatty eased and lit his pipe, enjoying the quiet lull.  
  
“You should ask Sam,” Pippin chirped. Fatty blinked and turned to the child.  
  
“Ask Sam what?” he asked. But Pippin wasn’t looking at him, but up at Gandalf.  
  
“Ask Sam along on your adventure,” Pippin said, “he told Frodo he’d not lose him, not if he went off with thirteen dwarves and a wizard.” Gandalf blinked, and shifted his gaze to Fatty.  
  
“Who is Sam?”  
  
“He’s just Sam,” Pippin said irritably and grabbed another cake.  
  
“Samwise Gamgee,” Fatty supplied, “Frodo’s gardener. Hey! Pippin, stop eating cake. Here, have some sprouts. They’re very good.”  
  
“Their gardener is a rather old chap, isn’t he?” Gandalf asked, looking a little crestfallen, though Fatty couldn’t think why.  
  
“Don’t want sprouts,” Pippin cried.  
  
“You’re thinking of Hamfast. That’s Sam’s dad,” Fatty said, ignoring Pippins protests, “No, Sam is young. Bit younger than Frodo.” He put the plate of sprouts in front of Pippin and gave him a meaningful look.  
  
“Ah,” Gandalf nodded, “Well, then they must be fast friends. Still, a bit extraordinary for a hobbit to say such a thing.” Fatty shrugged.  
  
“Sam is a bright little fellow,” he said slowly, “and he loves Frodo. No, it doesn’t surprise me if that’s what he said.”  
  
“Hm,” Gandalf mused.  
  
“What will you give me if I eat a sprout?” Pippin asked.  
  
“A place of honor and high regard,” Fatty said. Pippin wrinkled his nose.  
  
“A surprise,” Gandalf said. Pippin turned and stared up at him.  
  
“What surprise?”  
  
“A magic surprise,” Gandalf said with smile. Pippin considered this.  
  
“What kind of magic surprise?”  
  
“For heaven's sakes Pip!” Fatty growled. Gandalf laughed and withdrew a stick from his cloak, holding it up. Pippin studied it in silence, frowning. The end lit with a pop and a shower of sparks erupted from it, burning continuously. Pippin's eyes went wide and his face lit up.  
  
“Firework on a stick!” he shouted and bounced in his seat. Gandalf chuckled, looking delighted by Pippin’s excitement. “Please! Please! Please!”  
  
“Eat the sprout,” Fatty told him. Pippin grabbed a handful and gobbled them, then held his hand out, demandingly. Gandalf gave it to him and laughed again when Pippin snatched it and darted off.  
  
“There he goes,” Fatty sighed. Gandalf watched the boy swinging the stick around.  
  
“Mr. Bolger, you have helped me encourage good behavior in a hobbit. I’m not sure what to make of myself.”  
  
“Well, don’t think you’re turning over much of a new leaf sir,” Fatty said dryly, “You just gave that little hobbit child fire on a stick. I doubt that will do much toward the cause of good behavior.”  
  
“You do cheer me up!” Gandalf said happily.  
  
They watched as Pippin ran to a stand of pines, where several children were climbing, and proceed to try his best to set one of the trees on fire. Fatty had hissed in dismay and jumped up but Gandalf held his hand up.  
  
“No need to worry,” Gandalf laughed, “my little sparkler won’t harm the tree.” Fatty resumed his seat and they watched Pippin’s growing frustration and then several adults descended on him, scolding the boy.  
  
“But we were playing wolf and dwarf up a tree!” Pippin cried. Gandalf roared out a laugh, slapping the table.  
  
“Hobbits are the best!” he cried.  
  
Fatty smiled to himself  and looked up at the stars as he climbed the hill, enjoying the memory.   
  
"I'd give that wizard my entire cellar full of weed if only he would visit again," Fatty breathed and climbed the steps up to Bag End and went inside.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Frodo jerked himself awake and blinked in confusion. There were voices coming from outside the cart. Strange voices. Lotho and Hob had crawled forward to the doors, peering out through the slit.  
  
“Look at them,” Hob breathed. Lotho was tense, his eyes wide.  
  
'What's happening?” Frodo demanded. The two other hobbits turned to him and shushed him. There was fear in their faces. “Tell me what's happening,” Frodo whispered.  
  
“It's like Mr. Bilbo's stories,” Hob breathed, “fairies and trolls and things. Standing right outside. Talking with Mr. Volund.”  
  
“Those aren't fairies or trolls,” Lotho whispered.  
  
“Well I'm sure I don't know what they are, but they aren't nothing I've ever seen in Shire. Not a dwarf nor a Man.”  
  
“Those are goblins,” Lotho said softly.  
  
“Goblins,” Frodo gasped. His hands began to shake. He drew in a breath, “tell me exactly what you see. Let's not mistake this.” Lotho turned a glare on him.  
  
“I may not have cared for Uncle Bilbo, but you didn't grow up going to all the parties he went to and not hear his stories. I know what I am seeing.”  
  
“Cave-dwellers,” Hob said softly, “crafters of wicked tools. A people who have forsaken beauty.” Lotho passed a look his way but added nothing more. “These are the friends from the south,” Hob went on, “and he's told them where you make your home.” Lotho's mouth flattened into a tense line.  
  
“And my home!” Frodo cried.  
  
“Lor, that's right,” Hob breathed, “what do you want to bet those goblins won't keep to none of those promises Mr. Frodo asked for?” he breathed, gazing at Lotho. Lotho swatted him. Frodo swallowed painfully. Goblins in Bag End.  
  
“What if they kill whoever they find there?” Frodo said before he could stop himself. Lotho and Hob were silent. Frodo was in too much pain to care about them or even himself in that moment.

<>O<>O<>O<>

The hissing voices rising out of the darkness made sleep impossible for Sam. He sat, watching over Merry and Pippin as they slept, trying to keep the cold from rising up in him again. The dead things were calling it, making the poisoned cold harden and grow within him. 

 _If it gets too bad,_ Sam thought, _I must wake them. They won’t forgive me if I don’t._ But he didn’t want to wake them. They needed rest. Instead he turned his thoughts to Frodo.  
  
_I want him. I want my Frodo back,_ Sam thought. He sat still for a long moment, staring up at the stars, trying to block out the snarles of the dead. _If I can ever find him again, I want to show him what he means to me. I want to care for him, ease his troubles, and look after the little things, in ways I never did before. I’ll cook for him more, I think. And make him tea before he asks for it. I’ll still open his curtains in the morning, but then I can also get into bed with him._ Sam felt a touch of warmth on his cheeks.  
  
Get into bed with him.  
  
_Well, why not?_ He asked himself. He'd seen that welcoming light in Frodo's eyes, all that love. It might make him blush to do it the first few times, but what they could do there was so much fun. Sam huddled down into his coat, more warmth blooming up from within him. Frodo had pressed him to the bed and loved him. And then said that was only for starts. That they would have the love of a well accustomed couple someday. Though, Sam hardly knew what that might mean.  
  
He'd heard things, done a few slightly wild things, but this thing between him and Frodo was so different and so young. He wanted to tend it, baby it along until it could set hardy roots and grow into something as strong and immovable and as woven into their lives as the roots of the oak over Bag End.  
  
_Ah, worrying for naught,_ he scolded himself, _you don't have to go babying this._  
  
Even in the years when Frodo had fallen into his duties and had little time for him, there had been small sparks of connection between them. Frodo had always seen to that, even if it was only an afternoon together discussing a new garden plan, inviting him along for walks out to far flung parts of the Baggins' property. Sometimes when he’d been at the Dragon Sam would find his tab paid. Frodo had never admitted it, but Sam knew it had been him. Mostly, those years were filled with a gentleness between them.  
  
_Those years, those were the roots growing stronger, until without speaking on it, we just began to rely on one another. And what's between us, we've nurtured it, and let it grow. I protected him and he protected me. I took his hand and kissed him. He held me when I needed him and showed me wonders I never thought I'd see and he told me that he loves me. And he trusts me, enough to tell me things that he held back out of fear. And I trusted him, risked my position and our friendship to speak honestly with him. And he met that honesty with love. The way he always has. Even if I was too daft to see it. He's just like that._  
  
Sam closed his eyes. _And then he took me to his bed and gave me something so dear that I'm still aching. Aye, this new thing, it's not some seedling I've got to nurse. This thing has roots and stem and bud. No, this is the flower._ _The buds have set and opened into something unexpected. Something beautiful._  
  
_I want my Frodo back._  
  
He sighed and opened his eyes once more and blinked. The night was different, thicker. He sat up, alert now, and cursed his woolgathering, though it had driven down the cold within him. The sky had clouded so that he could not see the stars and the darkness deepened. Sam peered around him, gripping the little hatchet his sister had given him.  
  
_It's like a fog rolled in,_ he thought and froze.  
  
And then a gentle song began to fill his ears.


	22. In Trust

Merry felt a hand shaking his shoulder.  
  
“Merry!” it was Pippin's voice, hushed but with a note of urgency. Merry grunted and opened his eyes. It felt like he'd only been asleep for a few minutes and he blinked as his mind cleared.  
  
“What?” he asked groggy.  
  
“Get up. Hurry,” Pippin whispered. Merry was staring at the ground in front of him, disoriented. The ground faded away into inky blackness only a few feet in front of him. He blinked once more then, shot up.  
  
“Mist!” he gasped, his head swinging around, but he couldn't see anything, not even the moon and stars. Sam was working to brighten their little lantern, but it's light only bounced back at them, refusing to show them anything more of their surroundings. Sam blinked and shook his head, like he was trying to see properly.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“I'm alright,” Sam said softly.  
  
“And the Watchers?” Merry whispered and heard the fear in his own voice.  
  
“Don't know,” Pippin whispered back.  
  
“They was off to our right, just a minute ago. This mist come rushing in all at once and was on us before we could-” Sam broke off with a gasp. Small darting lights winked in and out above their heads. Merry stood on shaking legs, studying the mist around them. Pippin rooted through his bag and drew out the garden cutlass that Sam had loaned him. They all three stood together.  
  
Merry gasped as he caught sight of a cloak fluttering in the darkness and there was the sound of a voice, crying out. It was a Man's voice.  
  
“Halbarad!” Merry breathed and rushed forward.  
  
“Merry!” Pippin cried behind him and Merry felt a hand grasp his own, “Don’t wander off,” Pippin added. Merry turned to look at him.  
  
“Sorry! I thought I saw the Watchers. They were just there.” Pippin shook his head.  
  
“I didn’t see them. And I don’t like this mist.” Cries came from their right and the sound of blades clashing.  
  
“Do you hear that?”  
  
“I do,” Sam said.  
  
“Yes, but I don’t trust it. I’m not going to trust in anything except for you two,” Pippin said, shivering, “because I think it’s trying to separate us.”  
  
“We can’t just stand here though,” Sam whispered, “we’ve run before and got away.”  
  
“But where to?”  
  
“Pick a way,” Merry said and grasped Sam’s hand, “and we stay together.”  
  
They linked hands and walked together slowly. Though they were making progress, the flat ground and mist around them made it feel like they weren't moving and it was a very disorienting feeling. Sam made a soft grumble of displeasure and lifted his lantern.  
  
The light from it reflected back in several pairs of eyes, buried in the dark mist. Merry cried out and Pippin stepped in front of them, holding up his knife. A soft growl came from the creatures in front of them, and their eyes bobbed as they stepped closer. They all stepped back, instinctively clustering closer together.  
  
“They're herding us,” Sam whispered, “They're holding us here. So we can't run.”  
  
“But if we don't run,” Pippin breathed, trailing off unwilling to finish his thoughts. The lights were back, dipping and darting through the air above their heads. Pippin hissed in alarm.  
Merry took a breath, his eyes searching the mist for some hope. Barely perceptible, he caught sight of branches and trunks off to their left.  
  
“Trees,” he hissed and pointed.  
  
“If we could get up in a tree,” Sam said, slowly, his voice frightened and unhappy. Merry spares a moment to feel sorry for Sam, who had never had much liking for climbing up into trees.  
  
“Just like Bilbo and his dwarf friends,” Pippin said, his voice light, trying to raise their spirits. “They held out...” The soft growls from the mist came again and the young hobbit's voice trailed off. Merry tugged them both forward, silent and intent. They set off, slowly stumbling together through the mist. His mind was conjuring up fears- fears that something stood just out of sight, watching him. He'd thought he had outgrown such things. He wasn't a babe creeping along the dark halls of Brandy Hall at night, imagining ghosts watching him from the shadows. Because now those childish fears had come to life.  
  
In front of him, Sam stopped abruptly, his hand tightening on Merry’s. Merry gasped and looked up. There were trees ahead, just the faint outline of trunks and branches, but that wasn’t why Sam had stopped. Standing under the trees was a tall figure, barely visible, watching them. As their eyes fell upon him, a light came into his being, as if he were being illuminated from the inside. Looking into his face was like looking at the glow of the moon on a clear night. His dark hair looked soft and his eyes were so kind and gentle. Merry felt something deep inside him melt at the beauty of the man before him.  
  
“Oh,” he gasped his voice quivering, “you never said how beautiful they are.”  
  
“No,” Sam breathed, “Mr. Merry, you can't trust in it. He looks wonderful, but it isn't nothing but a fancy. If you hold strong against him a bit you'll see what he is. And it's horrible.”  
  
“Sam's right,” Pippin said, “we need to get away.”  
  
“But if we run,” Merry said slowly, “the wolves...”  
  
“We can't just stand here,” Sam said, pinching himself, “that song gets in your ears and makes you want to forget your danger.”  
  
“Song?” Merry asked in a daze. Sam pushed out a breath.  
  
“It's a trick,” he insisted, “Think of each other and why we're out here. That's what I done last time. I thought of Frodo. And it saved me.” The Elf stepped toward, them, moving slowly. Pippin raised his knife toward the approaching figure. He gave Pippin a soft questioning look, then lifted his gaze, staring past Merry. Merry shivered, hating the way it stared with wide vacant eyes. He balled his fist. Why was it here, he found himself wondering, it wanted Frodo. So why attack now? Following the logic path cleared his mind a bit and Merry persisted. _Oh, but if this thing truly is working with the dead creatures, then it may have come to free them._ Or, there was the other reason this thing attacked when Frodo wasn’t present.  
  
It was hungry.  
  
Merry's mind cleared and he heard the faint notes of a song swirling in the air around them. He blinked in alarm. Sam was right. It was all a trick.  
  
“Keep back foul thing!” he cried into the night. “We-” he broke off as Sam suddenly dropped his hatchet and the lantern and walked forward. Merry let out a cry of surprise and chased after him, clamping his arms around Sam's chest.  
  
“Sam?” he called out. Sam turned on him and there were tears in his eyes.  
  
“Let go!” Sam cried, “he can take us to Frodo!”  
  
“No, Sam,” Merry struggled with him, “no he can’t! Remember what you were just telling me? Try and remember what he is!”  
  
“He's an Elf,” Sam said through his teeth.  
  
“Pip! Help!” Merry shouted. Pippin shook himself and ran to them, careful to keep his eye on the approaching creature.  
  
“Sam!” Pippin said sharply, “they are wicked things. Do you think Frodo would want you to accept help from such creatures?” Sam blinked.  
  
“Sam,” Merry said softly, “speak some Elvish at him! You said they didn't like that!” Sam shook his head, fighting to clear his head of the song. “Sam?”  
  
“What?” he murmured. The thing was getting close. Pippin stepped in front of them. Merry wished he could run over and pick up Sam's hatched, but he didn't dare leave Sam's side now.  
  
“Elvish Sam,” he said, his voice growing high and frightened, “the greeting you told us about. Or maybe that poem Bilbo taught you?” he coaxed. “How did it go?” Sam only blinked blankly then shook his head and closed his eyes. “Sam!”  
  
“If the Elves can’t find him then how will we do it?”  
  
“Stay back! I see you for what you are!” Pippin shouted and swing his blade at the Elf. He paused, looking gently bemused.  
  
“We’ll find him,” Merry said to Sam, “I swear it.” Sam stared at him, grasping his hand and trying to steady himself. “That’s it,” Merry breathed and turned at the sound of Pippin crying out. He was swinging his little blade at it. As the creature shifted around him, easily keeping away from his strikes.  
  
“E-Elrond-half-Elven! Moonrunes! Arkenstone!” Pippin shouted, “aah... King Elf in Mirkwood!”  
  
“Pip? Alright?” Merry asked nervously.  
  
“It’s all the Elvish I know!” Pippin cried out in frustration. Merry turned back to Sam.  
  
“Just listen that rubbish, Sam. Do you see now how much we need you?” Sam gazed up at him, gasping out a laugh as his gaze focused.  
  
“Alright then,” he breathed.  
  
“Tell me the Elvish greeting that Frodo taught you,” Merry said.  
  
“El,” Sam frowned, “elen,” he shook his head.  
  
“Try not to listen to it,” Merry pleaded.  
  
“It’s hard,” Sam cried, “it keeps saying how I can find him. That I can see him safe.”  
  
“The greeting, Sam.”  
  
“Elen sila...” Sam said, struggling.  
  
“Lacho calad!” a loud deep voice cried out in the mist. Merry gasped and turned as a form rushed in front of them. He thought it was Halbarad, for a moment, for it was a Man, with a cloak and a sword, but even in the mist and gloom Merry realized that this man was taller, with thick hair and beard. “Drego morn!”  
  
“Elvish,” Merry said in wonder. The Man jerked to the side and grabbed Pippin by the arm, throwing him down. Pippin let out a sharp cry of pain as he struck the ground hard. At once, Merry sprang forward, moving in a blind fury. He put himself over Pippin, who had curled into a ball, clutching his shoulder, shaking. His knife lay on the ground beside him, and Merry seized it, facing the man and the creature. But they were occupied with one another.  
  
The Elf’s movements had changed; he no longer moved slowly, drifting like a puff of mist on the wind. Now he jerked and sprang up and his limbs moved like a spider’s. He let out a shrill cry of rage as the man countered his blow, his sword striking it with a metallic ring. Merry blinked, the sword had struck flesh, at least that’s what his eyes had shown him. Another strike from the man's sword fell and scraped along the Elf’s arm, a sound of metal on metal ringing out into the night air. Merry let out a cry at the unnatural sound and crouched closer over Pippin’s prone form.  
  
“Are you hurt?”  
  
“Just a bit,” Pippin gasped, his voice filled with pain. Merry glanced down and saw that his arm lay in an odd position. He felt a chill at the prospect of a break.  
  
“Try and get up. I know it hurts. But we can’t stay here. I’ll fight it off if it tries to follow us.” Pippin pulled himself up, and Merry caught the glint of tears in his eyes. He staggered to his feet and move shakily away. Merry kept his eye on the fight as he helped Pippin along. Then, Sam was at their side, putting his arms around Pippin's good side, to help support him. Merry stepped away, able to better watch the fight behind them as they moved away. They scrambled down a little embankment and hid themselves in the weeds and bushes at the field side. Merry turned to study Pippin in more detail now and saw that his arm was hanging limp down from his shoulder, and that his face was convulsed with pain.  
  
“Ah, Mr. Pippin,” Sam hissed.  
  
“It hurts,” Pippin said through his teeth. Merry felt fear thrilling through him.  
  
“Is it broken?” he asked.  
  
“Nay,” Sam whispered, “he’s pulled his shoulder out from where it ought to be.” He lifted his eyes to Pippin’s, moving close, adding, “I can pop it back in.”  
  
“Do it!” Pippin said, shaking, “I don't care how much it hurts. Just make it stop. Please, Sam.” Sam nodded and made Pippin lie down.  
  
“Keep an eye out?” Sam whispered to Merry, “we may have more to worry on than a hurt shoulder.” Merry nodded and gripped the knife. They were low and well hidden, the way that hobbits could be, but if Pippin cried out, it might draw something to them. Sam took Pippin's arm and pulled it, stretching the limb as he leaned back, his foot braced against the side of Pippin's chest. Pippin was shaking.  
  
“Try and relax it,” Sam whispered, “and don't holler out.” Pippin let out a soft whimper and Merry moved closer, putting his hand on Pippin's uninjured shoulder. Pippin stiffened and let out a soft yelp and Merry heard an audible pop. Sam released his arm, sitting up. Pippin blinked, amazement in his face and he stared at Sam. Sam smiled.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“Yes!” Pippin gasped in relief, gingering moving his arm. Merry let out a sigh and turned his attention back toward the field. His smiled fell away. The night was silent.  
  
He sent a warning look to Sam and Pippin, who hadn't taken notice of the quiet just yet, but at his look they went still. Merry slowed his breathing, peering out into the night. Had the man triumphed? Or was that thing up there, carving him up, just as it had carved Turnplow? Merry tried to push the fear down and listen, his eyes scanning the darkness.  
  
A slight glint in the mist just above the nearest bush caught his gaze and he pulled his attention back to it, though it was hard to see what was causing it in the dark night. He focused on it, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. Then, all at once he saw it.  
  
The glint was a reflection from a pair of eyes. The thing was standing directly over them, tall and lanky, watching them, it's Elf face gray and broken by a gaping mouth full of teeth. Merry jerked back, as cold panic hit him. _It 's so close!_  he thought. It had been standing over them, watching them.  
  
He heard cries of fear from Sam and Pippin, but it was too late. It was moving and it was already on them. They had no chance. It fell down onto its arms and then reached it's long limbs forward. It's dark shining eyes fixed on them, hunger and death in it's face. It's mouth opened wide showing three rows of jagged sharp teeth and it clamped it's clawed hands around Merry's chest. He felt the talons driving down into his flesh, cutting with a strength that would leave deep dark bruises. He heard Sam shout and turned to see that he was also caught in its grip. Pippin shouted in fury and Merry saw a glimpse of the young hobbit jumping at it. It screamed and twisted, aiming a kick at him.  
  
“No, Pippin! Run!” Merry shouted, before he was slammed to the ground knocking the air out of his lungs. A shriek filled his ears, so loud that it hurt, even above the pain of the creature's grip, which had loosened when he hit the ground. Merry writhed and tried to slip out of its clutches, but he was pinned under it. All he could manage was to twist up. The creature was moving, but it’s movements were the slow reflective spasms of a dying thing.  
  
"Ah?" Merry heaved, looking around widely.  
  
“Gurth an Glamhoth,” a voice growled in the darkness. Merry gave a mighty push and slipped free, looking up to see the Man standing on the creature's back, his sword plunged deep into its body. The Man looked down on him with glittering gray eyes.  
  
“Are you gentlemen alright?” he asked. Merry sat up, making a quick pass over his body. He ached, but he seemed to be in one piece.  
  
“I'm alright,” Merry said and glanced at Sam, who had also pulled himself free. Sam nodded. Merry stood, a little unsteady on his feet. Pippin ducked past the Man and put his arms around Merry. “Alright?” Merry asked, touching his shoulder. Pippin nodded.  
  
“Thank you,” Merry added looking up at the Man, “we owe you our lives.” Pippin snorted and stepped in front, staring up at the Man, as he bent to retrieve the knife from where Merry had dropped it.  
  
“Who are you?” he demanded.  
  
“I am a Ranger,” the Man said.  
  
“Pippin,” Merry murmured softly.  
  
“I am sorry for throwing you down,” the Man said, his eyes focused on Pippin, “I acted in haste.”  
  
“Better a hurt shoulder than a bite from that thing,” Sam said, looking down at it, shivering. Pippin only sniffed.  
  
“We were taking care of it,” he said. Merry gave him an incredulous look and Pippin stuck his nose in the air. “We were! Sam was going to demoralize it with some Elvish and I was to do the stabbing!” Merry laughed, despite himself. Light talk to banish the darkness. Of course. But then, this Man might not understand that.  
  
“Stop being an ass,” Merry told his cousin, then turned up to the Man, “Don’t mind him,” he added, “we are very grateful.”  
  
“Is there more of those things?” Sam asked. The man shook his head.  
  
“How do we know he’s a Ranger?” Pippin persisted.  
  
“Of course he's a Ranger,” Merry said, “look at his cloak and that clasp! It's the same as Halbarad and Aglaril.” It was the same, though his cloak was much more weather stained and tattered. And he stank. Merry turned back to study the Man. Though it was dark, the mist had lifted and starlight filled the sky above them once more. He could make out the man's thick bushy beard, which hid most of his face, and his bright eyes. Merry shivered. This man was what he had always pictured when he heard descriptions of the wild men Watchers.  
  
“Where are they?” the Man asked suddenly.  
  
“I'm afraid we don't know,” Merry said, “They were in the field with us, until that creature came.” The Man gave a soft grunt, then walked up the embankment, quickening his pace once he was on the flat field. Merry followed after him, hearing the sounds of Sam and Pippin following after.  
  
They found Halbarad and Aglaril where they had left them, still stationed in the middle of the field, guarding the snarling dead things, still thankfully staked down. But now a large long limbed carcass lay nearby, its sharp teeth shining in the light from their lanterns.  
  
“Ah, another one,” Sam cried.  
  
“Yes. There were two,” the Man said.  
  
“But two of what?” Pippin said under his breath. No one answered.  
  
At their appearance, Halbarad and Aglaril got to their feet, their grim faces taking on a look of surprised delight at the appearance of the Man.  
  
“Master!” Halbarad said, bowing a little. The Man raised a hand.  
  
“What has been happening here?”  
  
The two Men spoke together in lowered voices, while Aglaril walked over to the hobbits and peered down at them.  
  
“Glad that you are alright. We were terribly worried. We couldn’t find you.”  
  
“The mist and the wolves kept us from finding you,” Merry said. Aglaril's smile fell.  
  
“Wolves?” she growled, and fingered her blade, staring out into the night. “Excuse me,” she said and went off quickly toward the field side. They watched her go and Sam clutched his hands together, clearly worried. He needn't have, however. Aglaril returned only a short time later, looking downcast.  
  
“They have gone off once more,” she said, “their tracks went south, but I will not track them now. We have too much else to worry on.” Her attention shifted to them again, “are you hobbits hurt?”  
  
“Not to speak of,” Merry said quietly, “he saved us. That Ranger.” She nodded, her eyes moving to the Man still standing with Halbarad. “Who is he?” Merry asked quietly.  
  
“The master of our order,” Aglaril said softly, “I’ll say no more,” she eyed him, anticipating his questions, “for the Enemy has ears everywhere and his agents have laid many traps for our master.”  
  
“Oh,” Merry pondered this, “I am very sorry to hear he has such troubles. And I will not press you further. I understand keeping secrets to protect someone.” Aglaril nodded to him, then excused herself and slipped away, walking toward Halbarad and the other Man. Merry watched them and put his hands in his pockets.  
  
“I wonder what it means,” Pippin said softly, “this new Man showing up. Wonder what it will mean for our plans to go find Frodo in the morning. Do you suppose he'll put a stop to it?” Sam snorted.  
  
“I mean to find out,” he growled. Merry glanced at him. Sam stared back, defiant, “I'm the spy of this conspiracy, aren't I?”  
  
“Chief Investigator,” Pippin nodded.  
  
“Be careful,” Merry said softly. Sam nodded and walked slowly toward the edge of the field, moving so that he could circle back toward them. Merry tracked his progress for a time, but once Sam slipped down into a stand of bushes, even Merry's keen eyes couldn't find him.  
  
“Have you got your knife still?” Merry asked softly. Pippin nodded and touched it, where it was holstered at his hip.  
  
“Let's see if we can't find Sam's hatchet. I'd like to have our armaments handy.”  
  
“He saved us. Are you afraid of him?” Pippin asked in a low voice.  
  
“He's very wild looking,” Merry sighed, “He may be alright. But I don't want to take chances.”  
  
“Right,” Pippin breathed.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Sam moved silently through the undergrowth, letting his instincts guide him. He'd never had much cause to try out his hobbity stealth, but he was finding that it came very naturally to him, and he was glad. As he came nearer, he began to be able to make out words spoken between the Rangers.  
  
“The hobbit is to be watched,” the Master said in a low voice, “and kept in the Shire where where we can find him when we have need. Where is he now?”  
  
“His friends think he was spirited South by a conjurer who was to take him out of the Shire.”  
  
“Oh?” The Master grew intent, “this is news I had not heard.”  
  
“What should we do?” Aglaril asked. The Man was silent.  
  
“If he believes the best course is to remove Frodo Baggins from the Shire now then I trust his wisdom. Though I find it an odd thing.” He paused, “no matter. Something must have happened to direct his actions thus. We must-” the man stopped and turned.  
  
“Master?”  
  
The man rose and he stepped toward the brambles where Sam hid. Sam slowed his breathing but it was useless. The Man's eyes locked on him. Sam jerked up and turned to flee but the man reached down and grasped him by his collar.  
  
“You let go of me you traitor!” Sam shouted, “you dirty rotten long legs!” And aimed a kick at the man. The man paid him no mind.  
  
“You put him down!” Merry’s voice rang out. Sam twisted around to see Merry and Pippin advancing on the Man. Merry had his hatchet in hand.  
  
“Peace hobbits,” the Man called.  
  
“They mean to help the conjurer!” Sam cried out, “they’re betraying Mr. Frodo!” Merry and Pippin's expressions hardened.  
  
“Put Sam down,” Merry growled, “or I will make you put him down.” The Man sighed and lowered Sam to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Sam turned and jumped at the Man, fists flying.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
He was dragged away almost at once by Halbarad who had rushed forward. Merry lunged forward and slapped at the Man until he released Sam.  
  
“Our cousin trusted to you,” Pippin shouted at the Watchers, “I thought there was some honor left in Men, but it seems not!”  
  
“You heard things that you do not understand,” the Man said in a hard voice, “think what you will, but know that we do not mean harm to Frodo Baggins.”  
  
“No harm?” Merry laughed, “Yes that’s what Volund said too. But at least we didn’t fall for his lies. I’m just sorry that we fell for yours for a time.” The Man paused.  
  
“Volund?” he asked.  
  
“The conjurer,” Halbarad said, “at least, that is what the hobbits say he calls himself.” The Man was silent.  
  
“Tell me what he has done,” the Man asked, his eyes on Merry. Merry stiffened.  
  
“What do you mean? He's taken Frodo! That's all that matters!”  
  
“He kidnapped a child too,” Pippin said in a hard voice, “did you know your boss did such a thing? And then he threw Frodo in a cart and took him off. And he hurt Merry and Fatty and had Sam poisoned! So if you're with him, then, thank you for saving us, but you had better just clear out of here!”  
  
“I think we have had a misunderstanding,” the Man said, “a grave one.”  
  
“What’s that?” Merry pressed.  
  
“This Volund is not our boss nor ally,” the Man said quietly, “he is unknown me. And this all bodes very badly.” The hobbits glanced at one another. “And he took Frodo Baggins!” The Man hissed in dismay. “If only I had come sooner! There is great evil in this.”  
  
“Then we get Mr. Baggins back?” Aglaril asked.  
  
“Yes, at once!”  
  
Merry exchanged another look with his friends.  
  
“We’re coming too,” Merry said and lowered his hatchet. Sam sent him an incredulous look.   
  
“Careful sir! I still don’t like him!” he spat, “He only changed his tune when he was caught out and he said, 'this hobbit is to be watched and kept where we can get at him'. He might not be friends with this Volund, but he’s no friend to my Mr. Frodo either!”  
  
“Do you think he changed his mind because he was afraid of you, hobbit?” Halbarad asked. Sam stared daggers up at the Man.  
  
“It’s still suspicious,” Pippin said evenly, “wouldn’t you admit that?”  
  
“What is your business with Frodo?” Merry asked pointedly staring up at the Man.  
  
“I do not owe that information to you,” the Man said, “and I will not speak of it.” Merry frowned at him, silent for a long moment.  
  
“You say you mean to bring Frodo back?” he said at last, “I suppose that’s good enough for me. But know that we are coming with you.”  
  
“If you must,” the Man said, “But we go now. We are wasting time. He will be beyond the borders of your Shire before long and in much greater peril than you’ve any idea.” Merry turned to meet Sam's eyes. Sam was visibly shaking, but he met Merry's eyes and nodded.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Merry was about to answer, tell the Rangers that they would indeed go with them, when Halbarad stiffened suddenly, his attention turned toward the Row and Hill.  
  
“Hey?” Aglaril hissed, going to his side. Merry followed their gaze. The mist had dissipated completely now and the sky had lightened a bit in preparation for dawn, so he could see a bit of the Hill and Row, but he couldn't see whatever they were looking at. The Master of the Rangers drew in a breath and unhooked a bow from his back and fitted an arrow to it.  
  
“Hey!” Sam said softly, “don't be aiming that toward the Row!” The Man took no notice of him. “Hey!” Sam said again. Merry caught the barest hint of movement, but it wasn't on the Row, but at the top of the Hill. He hissed in alarm, about to tell the Man that Fatty was up there, and they might be shooting at him, but then he saw it step out from the garden gate.  
  
Even at this distance he could see that it was too big for a hobbit, though it was stooped, and that it's arms clutched a trunk. And it didn't move like a man, nor a hobbit. Merry blinked trying to understand what he was seeing. The Man silently drew back his arrow, aiming it.  
  
_That thing had Frodo's trunk_. Merry realized and felt a deep cold chill, _the trunk that sat at the foot of Frodo's bed._

Merry gasped and jumped up, knocking the Man's bow aside. The Man growled at him.  
  
“Hold him!” he ordered and Aglaril moved forward.  
  
“No!” Merry cried, “No! That thing has my cousin's trunk!” the Man was aiming once more, paying him no attention. Merry pushed the words out in a rush, even as he felt Aglaril hold him down. “It knew to go get that trunk! That trunk in particular out of everything in that hole! Don't you see? Someone told it to get that trunk! And that person could only be Frodo!” The Man drew in a breath and lowered his arrow, looking at Merry in surprise. Aglaril's hands released him as Sam let out a soft cry.  
  
“Because Mr. Frodo told him that trunk has the-” he caught his breath, “-oddments that that man is after!” he clenched his hands, and murmured as if to himself “and if we follow that thief, then we find Frodo!” In the next instant he was bolting off across the field.  
  
“Sam! Careful!” Merry cried. He and Pippin exchanged a look and then raced after him.  
  
“Wait! We must do this right,” Halbarad called after them, “I will follow this creature! You hobbits are not used to such tracking!” None of them stopped.  
  
_We are hobbits!_ Merry thought, _We can follow just as well as a Man and more silently too!_ He was just about to catch up to Sam, when something flew past his ear and narrowly missed Sam's shoulder. The gardener turned to stare back, wide-eyed. Merry halted, bewildered. Had the Watchers shot at them?  
  
But no, the Master of the Rangers had dropped his bow and was barreling towards them.  
  
“Down!” he hissed, leaping past Merry. More whistles raced through the air around them, and Merry realized then that they were indeed being shot at, just not by the Watchers. He gave a cry and dove down behind a rock, pulling Pippin along with him, hoping that he was taking proper cover. He nearly tripped over an arrow, sunk into the earth. Ahead, Sam gave a squawk and Merry peered toward him in time to see the Ranger push in front of Sam and knock him to the ground. Sam was crawling then, his eyes full of fear as he scrambled to the rock where Merry was sheltering. The Ranger moved after him, limping as he did.  
  
Aglaril and Halabard had disappeared, but Merry heard a soft cry from the nearby woods and the sound of a sword striking something hard. The shots ceased.  
  
“Are you alright?” Pippin asked and Merry turned to see that Pippin was speaking to the Master of the Rangers. The Man winced and tugged his leg up. A long wet line of blood soaked his right pants leg.  
  
“An arrow grazed me,” the Man said, “it isn't serious.” Sam stared at the wound.  
  
“If you hadn't pushed me down that arrow would have gone into my chest,” he said numbly, “I saw it coming. I was too slow.” Merry reached over and took his hand. Sam's gaze lifted to the Man, “Thank you,” he said softly.  
  
They all stiffened at the sound of approach, though Merry recognized it almost at once as the sound of Halbarad and Aglaril, moving toward them. Men were so loud as they moved. Sure enough, they came into sight and stepped behind their rock.  
  
“I've slain the archer,” Halbarad said, “it was one of the din-horde, though one wearing an emblem that I have not seen.” The Man drew in a breath.  
  
“A din-horde? What's that?” Pippin asked.  
  
“A goblin,” Sam whispered, his eyes widening. He looked up at the Rangers, alarmed, “We're losing that thief that has the trunk!” he cried, pain and panic in his voice. Halbarad turned to Aglaril.  
  
“Go,” he said, “leave a trail and I will find you.” She nodded and bolted off.  
  
“Ought we to follow?” Merry asked and looked up, “we mean to follow!”  
  
“That creature will not go far with the sun about to rise,” Halbarad said, “you will hinder her if you follow after now.” he lowered his voice, softening his tone, “If you wish to follow with me then we can talk about that. But do not interfere for now if you want us to be able to track this thing.”  
  
“Fine,” Merry said stiffly.  
  
“Your master,” Sam said, “he's wounded.” Halbarad's eyes moved to the Man, who still crouched down beside them. The Ranger was busily tearing the cuff of his pant up, to expose the torn flesh. Halbarad sat down beside him.  
  
“There is poison in the wound,” he said. The man frowned, nodding.  
  
“He’ll die?” Sam cried.  
  
“This will not kill me,” the Ranger said quietly, “I know how to treat it.”  
  
“Is there a place where he can shelter for a day or two?” Halbarad asked.  
  
“Yes,” Sam said slowly.  
  
“Bag End?” Pippin asked.  
  
“I do not wish to inconvenience anyone. And I’m sure you do not want a wild Man in your little hobbit hole.”  
  
“It's not little,” Pippin sniffed.  
  
“There's more than enough room for you there,” Merry said, “and I think Frodo wouldn't mind you making use of it,” he moved his gaze to Sam, “circumstances being what they are. Anyway. You saved Sam's life. It's the least we can do.”  
  
“Hey! Bag End!” Pippin gasped, “Fatty! What if that thief hurt him?” he jumped up.  
  
“I will come with you,” Halbarad said, following after Pippin. They disappeared as they slipped through the hedge on the way toward the Row. Sam stood, looking down at the Master of the Rangers.  
  
“Me and Mr. Merry will help you walk sir. We'll get you settled up at Bag End.”  
  
“Not just yet,” the Man said, and turned back to stare at the field. “There is the matter of those creatures.” Sam sucked in a breath and they turned to look at the slowly writhing pile. “I must guard them until they are no longer a threat.”  
  
“Very well,” Merry said, “we will help you.” Sam nodded, though he shifted impatiently.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Pippin and Halbarad raced up the Hill, only to find Fatty sitting on the stoop.  
  
“Hey! You're alright!” Pippin said. Fatty nodded.  
  
“Quite so,” Fatty said, “I'm afraid I slept though whatever it was. I heard the back door and by the time I woke and got up to investigate I found it standing open and no sign of whoever came in. I got a bit spooked though and came out here. Heard some shouts and odd sounds,” he paused, “are you all alright?”  
  
“Yes, fine, but come along, we need your help,” Pippin said. He told Fatty in broad strokes what had happened as they walked down the lane. Fatty made a detour and knocked at Number Three. Unsurprisingly, they found that the whole household was awake and as soon as they were assured it was safe to walk on the Row, the Gamgees were out, following Pippin and Fatty and Halbarad out into the field.  
  
“And we can follow it to Frodo?” Fatty asked, excitedly. Pippin nodded as they came into the field and found Sam and Merry and the Master of the Rangers. The Gamgees clustered around Sam, while Merry went to Fatty and Pippin. Dawn light was starting to glow in the sky.  
  
“It’s hard choices now,” the Master of the Rangers said. Pippin drew closer, curious to hear his conversation. Halbarad nodded. “I feel that there isn’t a moment to lose in pursuing Mr. Baggins and finding him before he is taken from the Shire. And yet, this conjurer holding him may be a warning of some far greater trouble. I do not like his talk of bringing Mr. Baggins to his master in the south. For such a power seeking after that hobbit in particular is troubling. And I am not the one who will understand all the implications. I wish that I were not held here,” the Man brooded. Halbarad nodded.  
  
“We will send word no later than two days from now, advising you on our progress in retrieving Mr. Baggins. Perhaps we will have him back. Or if not, perhaps by then you will be able to judge better if this is something that we can handle or if it is a matter that calls for additional aid.” The Man frowned and nodded.  
  
“Very well. I once again place my trust in you.”  
  
Pippin felt a surge of encouragement. This man believed they could have Frodo back within two days! And if not, then there was some other aid out there? At any rate, they seemed to be taking this very seriously now and he liked the determination in their voices. His attention drifted to the Gamgees. They were having a rushed conversation, making arrangements. Hamfast and Hamson promised to take the Ranger up to Bag End once he was finished in the field, with Daisy promising to look after the Man in his sickness.  
  
“After all, he saved your life, Sam,” she said, “and he'll need his square six if he's to keep up his strength through an illness!” Marigold ran back to the Row and returned with several bags of food made up, along with a few scant provisions and blankets folded and strapped on top. These she thrust on Sam and the gentlehobbits. Hamfast clapped his son on the back.  
  
“You bring Mr. Frodo back, now,” he said softly. Sam nodded, and Pippin thought he saw tears in Sam's eyes.  
  
“Are we ready?” Merry asked, seeing that Halbarad was already standing at the field side, waiting for them.  
  
“You three can move quicker if I don't slow you up,” Fatty said quietly. Merry turned and took his hand. Fatty laughed hollowly. “Anyway, I do want to stay with this Ranger and make sure these dead creatures are taken care of.”  
  
“That's wise,” Merry said.  
  
“I mean to be along behind you though,” Fatty added, “I'll head South and hope for the best,” he paused, looking at all three of them, “best of luck, you chaps. I know if it can be done, you will do it.” Merry hugged him.  
  
“You two,” the Master of the Rangers called. The hobbits turned and the man pointed to Sam and to Pippin. “Come here. Before you leave.” Pippin glanced at Sam, seeing his anxious look. Pippin stood straighter and went first, walking to the man.  
  
“Yes?” he said. The tall dirty Man fixed his gray eyes on Pippin. Pippin shivered but held his gaze. The Man sighed, and reached into his cloak and withdrew a small leather pouch. He held it out to Sam, who had come to join them. Sam hesitated, then took it.  
  
“For the poison. You and,” the man said, and his eyes moved to Pippin, “you. Chew the leaves.”  
  
“Poison?” Pippin said softly. Sam's eyes widened.  
  
“From those things?” he whispered and glanced toward the dead creatures. The Man nodded. Pippin sent another amazed look at the Man. He reached out again his hand moving toward Pippin and Pippin stepped back, his nerves getting the better of him.  
  
“Peace, hobbit,” the man said gently. “I swear that I mean no harm.” Sam and Pippin trades glances and Pippin eased.  
  
“What do you mean then?” he asked.  
  
“A blessing. From one who walks the wanderer’s path,” the Man murmured. Pippin took and breath and nodded, stepping close again. The man set his hand on Pippin's head and spoke a few words in his strange tongue. Then he lifted his hand and reached out to Sam.  
  
“It’s alright,” Pippin whispered. Sam was shaking, for he too did not like Big People this close, but he stood still and let the man put his hand on the top of his head. When he finished, Sam and Pippin nodded their thanks and retreated, still shaken.  
  
“How did he know?” Sam whispered. Pippin shook his head, still amazed.  
  
“Maybe he's a healer?” he whispered back. Sam shook his head, still amazed by it. They said their goodbyes to the Gamgees and Fatty, and Fatty went back to the middle of the field, taking up a position next to the Ranger. Sam, Pippin, and Merry went to Halbarad. He nodded to them, and then they set off.  
  
_Finally_ , Pippin thought, _we are making some progress. We are going to find Frodo. And we are going to bring him back!_  
  
Behind them, the light of the new day stretched across the back field and the sounds of the dead shrieking in the sunlight filled their ears. Pippin gasped in horror and traded looks with Sam and Merry, but none of them said anything. Instead, they ducked their heads as they passed under the trees, walking quickly to keep pace with the Ranger in front of them.  
  
They were going to find Frodo.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Frodo awoke, blinking at the slates of wood in front of him. He shifted and winced, his back aching as he pushed himself up to lean against the wall. He hadn't slept well and he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall, trying to steady his breathing. The cart door was open and a faint breeze came through, easing him just a bit.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
Frodo opened his eyes to see Lotho standing outside the cart, peering in at him.  
  
“What?” he asked, weary.  
  
“There's a stream,” Lotho said quietly, “we're to go down there and you will bathe. Hob will brush your clothes and air them.”  
  
“What?” Frodo mumbled, his head still foggy. Why was be being allowed a bath?  
  
“We're going into town,” Lotho said, “remember? And you need to look as respectable as you can," he paused, adding, "you will do everything in your power to make them think you are doing this of your own free will. Including looking as if you've done nothing more troubling than a day's travel. Don't raise their suspicions. Understand?"  
  
“Oh, of course,” Frodo sighed, ignoring the implied threat, “I wouldn't want to be disheveled for my last appearance in the Shire. Nor for the grand occasion of signing over all my property to you.” Lotho gave him an irritated look, but didn’t comment further. “Are you going to untie me?” Lotho looked grim.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then help me down,” Frodo said, crawling as best he could. Lotho took hold of him and dragged him down, helping to set him on his feet. Frodo did not thank him. Instead, he sighed and followed after him.

By nine o'clock they were standing in the Ordinary's office in Longbottom. The bath had cleared some of the weariness from his head, but Frodo still felt as if he was in a dream. He shook himself. He needed to carry this off. If he didn't, then the consequences didn't bear thinking on. The clerk readied his quill and looked up expectantly.  
  
“When you are ready, Mr. Baggins,” the Ordinary said. Frodo nodded and took a breath.  
  
“I Frodo Baggins of the West Farthing being of sound and disposing mind and memory...”  
  
Years ago, when he’d made his last will, he had such a feeling of warmth. It delighted him that his estate would go to Sam. He’d been lost in a daze, first reflecting on the vast store of kindness that the Gamgees had bestowed on him, and then hazy dreams of Sam coming into his own, growing into the role of Master of the Hill. Now, there was only a chill in his heart as he spoke the words and watched the clerk record them.  
  
“...and being desirous to settle my affairs hereby make and publish this my last will and testament hereby revoking,” his throat tightened, and it hurt him to say the next few words, “...hereby revoking all wills hereforto made by me.”  
  
Frodo paused and sipped his tea before he felt strong enough to continue. The clerk was watching him, but Frodo had long ago mastered the art of hiding his pain and true feelings. He projected the placid facade that was required of him.  
  
“First I desire that my body be buried in a decent manner suitable to my condition in life. Second after payment of my just debts I do give and bequeath to my cousin Lotho Sackville Baggins in fee simple full ownership without any conditions or restrictions all my property real personal and mixed including my effects of every kind and nature and wherever situated...” Frodo took a breath, a little spark of love and bravery kindling in him as an idea formed even as he spoke, his voice still gentle and calm.  
  
“With the following exceptions,” he added softly. He senses a deep wash of tension behind him but he continued. “That the lands along Bag Shot Row, are to continue to be held in trust under the grants of freehold made by Bilbo Baggins and that those rights of freehold may not be infringed.  
  
“That my entire store of wine including the Old Winyards is to be bequeathed to my dear cousin Meriadoc Brandybuck to aid him in finding joy and company and cheer- just a few of the precious gifts that he bestowed upon me.  
  
“That my library should go to my dear cousin Pippin Took, for its preservation, and for his use and enjoyment, and also a certain trunk of pyrotechnical devices which may be found stored at my home in the cellar. I hope that he finds magic in both.  
  
“To my dear Fredegar Bolger, a faithful friend who kept my secrets, and who I will trust with a few more. I bequeath to him all my secret mushrooming maps and journals. May he be the envy of every Bolger, Took, Brandybuck and Baggins.  
  
“That my two barrels of beer and my pony Thorin Oakenshield are to be given to my beloved Samwise Gamgee, under who’s care, all living things thrive.  
  
"And last, it is my will and I do direct that a sum equal to twenty percent of the appraisal of my property real personal and mixed shall be paid to said Samwise Gamgee upon the probating of this instrument and that an annual pension equal to thirty percent of all profits generated by my estate shall be paid to the said Samwise Gamgee for the rest of his natural life.” Frodo paused, his eyes fixed on the wall above the Ordinary's head, but he was so overcome with a vision of Sam's face that he hardly saw it. A sweet deep ache filled him. “So that he need not choose between the cabbages and potatoes and the stars and moonshine.”  
  
There was a very quiet sound of a drawn in breath but Frodo ignored it. Love filled him, fueling his courage.  
  
_I will protect him. I will protect the Row. And I will give them all one last act of love_. He stepped forward, and took the quill from the clerk, signing his name. The clerk cleared his throat and read out in a loud voice,  
  
“Before me in person came Lotho Sackville Baggins a witness to the last will and testament of Frodo Baggins who being duly sworn deposeth and saith that he saw the said Frodo Baggins sign said will seal and publish the same and declare this said instrument his last will and testament and that he signed it at his request and in the presence of the other witnesses thereto that the said Frodo Baggins signed sealed declared and published said will freely and voluntarily and without compulsion and was in sound and disposing mind and memory at the time and that despondent and the other subscribing witnesses signed said instrument in presence of each other.” Lotho paused, then he too stepped forward and, taking the quill from Frodo, made his mark on the document.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

A short time later, Frodo and Lotho walked out of the Ordinary's office and Frodo felt his attention drawn to the hobbits going about their day, chatting to one another. He gazed longingly at them.  
  
_I could run. Now that the will business is done, I could get away,_ he thought. But almost at once he spotted Volund standing beside a shop, watching them, and Frodo felt his spirits fall.  
  
“What do you think you are doing?” Lotho hissed at him, “what was that that you pulled in there? I thought I made myself clear!” Frodo held himself still then turned, anger blazing up inside him.  
  
“I am doing as you asked,” he said softly.  
  
“You-”  
  
“It is well known that I despise you,” Frodo hissed back, “don’t you think it might look a little suspicious if I change my will, giving you everything, leaving nothing to my friends? And then I disappear a day later? Don’t you think people might question that? I do have some powerful friends. The Thain, the Master of Buckland. Will Whitfoot, Rollo Braceguirdle... Do you want that attention? Do you think that clerk would have approved the will with you standing over my shoulder scowling and obviously coercing me to give you all my property? I know the consequences if that will were to be thrown out. You’d hire that man, and then Sam would be,” he broke off when his throat closed. He paused, until the tightness eased, then went on quietly, “I will not let that happen. This is no petty matter to me as it is to you. Do you understand?” Frodo paused, letting the silence build between them. “Of course, if you so desire it, we can go back in there and I will amend the will and give you everything. I am entirely at your mercy in this matter.” Lotho glared at him.  
  
“I hate you,” he said softly. Frodo stared at him.  
  
“You hate me?” Frodo felt himself trembling with fury, “Do you understand what you are taking from me?”  
  
“I understand you are attached to Bag End, but it never should have been yours.”  
  
“Bag End!” Frodo spat, “this isn’t about Bag End!”  
  
“Of course it is.”  
  
Frodo only sighed.  
  
“You said to do all that I could to make them believe I was doing this of my own free will. I think this is the best course for you.”  
  
“Don’t pretend you are doing this for my benefit! This is for him and the rest of your lot,” Lotho spat. Frodo stared icily at him.  
  
“I am at your service,” he said, “if you want to snatch it all back, then you’ve only to say the word.” Lotho shook his head, muttering and Frodo left him to it. They were walking slowly out of town, and Volund was following, keeping a discreet distance.  
  
“You are clever enough to get your way after all,” Lotho said after a time, “It would be very suspicious for us to go in there now and change things. Still, you took a very large chance. I am tempted to engage the Man even so. A twenty percent sum and then a pension worth thirty percent of your property’s proceeds? Paid annually? You’ve come very close to making it cheaper to hire the Man. And I’d almost rather the money go to him.”  
  
“Lotho,” Frodo said softly.  
  
“But not quite. I’ve some pity for you. And I suppose the Gamgees must be paid off. Grasping greedy dirt grubbers that they are. Still,” he laughed, “I’ll have my own accountant managing the payments. And the Gamgees aren’t in a position to understand percentages and what they are to be owed. And they’d not dare to go against me I think. And as for the Row, well. Those little freehold grants and the directives in your will are only as strong as the one enforcing such things. Judge Greyfoot is old. He is retiring. And my father's old friend Penfallow has a very good shot at taking over. A better one if I put myself behind him. And if I have a friendly judge and enough solicitors on my side and no troublesome Bagginses running to the archives to dig up trouble, then how long do you think it will take me to dispose of those little grants? I’ll have Bag Shot Row dug up just to spite you. I will.”  
  
“You’d not go to such effort. Not when you couldn’t rub it in my face.”  
  
“You think not? After all, I don’t want filth living at the foot of my Hill. Besides, it would teach them all to have respect for their master. A lesson that the Gamgees are sorely in need of.”  
  
“You’re trying to make me angry,” Frodo said softly, trying not to believe the words.  
  
“It’s not that exactly. I’m just telling you what will happen. You can’t do anything about it and I want the satisfaction. I’d hate for you to think you’d won. Because you haven't. You're time is ending. And mine is beginning.”  
  
“And what will you do with your time?” Frodo asked softly, “other than hurt my friends out of spite?”  
  
“I've got plans. I've been making them my whole life it seems like,” Lotho smiled, “it's going to take a hobbit like to me bring the Shire into this new world. Someone with a bit of sense, for a change. I'll close the pubs and put a stop to all the laziness of our people. We hobbits can be stronger and harder than we've let ourselves become.”  
  
“Harder,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“The world is hard and we must adapt if we are to be players within it,” Lotho told him. Frodo heard his words and knew that many hobbits would nod along with something like that, while many others would feel misgivings, yet they would remain silent, unable to articulate their doubts.  
  
“Do we really want to play in such a game?”  
  
“Asking such a question is why you won't figure in. You're nothing but a victim in all this.”  
  
“Victim,” Frodo said in a hard voice. Lotho blinked at him. “I know what you mean when you say that. You think anyone who feels pain is weak. But it's just the opposite really.”  
  
“What?” Lotho sneered.  
  
“There isn't anything I can say to explain it to you. I'm afraid it's just something you'll have to learn,” Frodo sighed, “I hope you survive the lesson.” Lotho stared at him and snorted.  
  
“If I were you, Frodo, it would not be me I'd be worrying about.”  
  
Frodo bowed his head.  
  
“True enough,” he said, and a a deep despairing darkness fell over his heart. They left Longbottom behind and Volund joined them once more, Hob trailing along behind him. Frodo couldn't muster the barest scrap of will now. He was lost and beaten and maybe Lotho was right about all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lacho calad! Drego morn: Flame light! Flee darkness!  
> Gurth an Glamhoth: death to the din-horde
> 
> D in the comments a while back got it right. You know Aragorn would be all in this business as long as he was around and heard that someone was going after Frodo. So was he canonically around? As far as I can tell I think he might be. Stringing together appendix and Council of Elrond accounts we know that sometime in SR 1417, the year this story is set it, Aragorn was dealing with Gollum and left him with the Elves in Mirkwood. I'm supposing he came back to guard the Shire after that- first seems like him and Gandalf tried to keep one of them around the Shire when they could. Gandalf went to Mirkwood at that time and was questioning Gollum. They might have met briefly there. If that's the case then Aragorn might have felt the need to get back to the Shire. Plus, the next time we know for sure where Aragorn is, he's near the Shire (in April 1418 after Gandalf tells Frodo about the Ring he and Aragorn meet near the South Farthing). So I think he could be back in time to join in on this story, even if he was a little late getting there. 
> 
> So, if Sam, Merry, and Pippin meet Aragorn now, why wouldn't they recognize him a year later when they meet him in Bree? I'm making a few assumptions- first I would guess that Aragorn might change his appearance fairly often. He says the Enemy lays traps for him and they are searching for him. When Frodo meets him in Bree, Aragorn affects an accent like a Breelader. I'm guessing that's not his first time taking on an accent or appearance to blend in or to suit his purposes. He might also be good at having a forgettable voice or just be a magic Numenorean to help all his disguising. Plus, I'm also assuming that after his long trek to catch Gollum at the Dead Marshes and then to Mirkwood and then back to the Shire he is worn the heck out, real gross and has a big old beard. Most importantly, Frodo doesn't meet Aragorn here. Frodo seems to be able to look through Aragorn's disguise in Bree after just a little time. Maybe because he's observant and careful or maybe it's some power the Ring is giving him. Either way, that ability to see him and recognize a bit of what he is, is something that Sam, Merry and Pippin can't do.
> 
> Or maybe hobbits are just real thrown off by beards. Idk.
> 
> Also it's just too funny to me to imagine Aragorn meeting Sam and Pippin and Merry in Bree and being like, oh it's these assholes. (But immediately being won over by them because they are only assholes to anyone they think might threaten Frodo.)
> 
> As always, Thank you for reading. <3


	23. Drowned in Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence warning.

Through the morning, the goblin moved quickly, and though he stuck to wooded places and shadows, he was able to cover quite a lot of ground.  
  
“It is strange,” Aglaril said, peering through the morning light, “he must have great need to travel in the sunlight.”  
  
“He’s not happy to do it,” Halbarad said, lowering his spyglass and handed it to the other Ranger, “Look at him, trying to hide his face,” Halbarad said. Even at a distance Sam could make out that the goblin was pulling a cloak over his face, cowering in the shadows as he went, “I doubt he will travel far once the sun is up above the trees. They despise the sun.”  
  
As predicted, once the sun was high overhead at midday, the goblin slunk under an outcrop of rock and tucked himself in among the boulders. Though Sam watched him hide, he was amazed to see just how completely the goblin hid himself, and it was only with concentration and knowing exactly where he was that he could be seen at all.  
  
Halbarad promised to keep a close watch, while the rest retreated a short distance and made a simple meal. After they were finished, Aglaril leaned back against the oak tree they sat under and took out her flask, sipping. She raised her gaze only to find Sam, Merry and Pippin watching her. She blinked at them.  
  
“This isn't water, hobbits,” she told them. They're eyes narrowed, and none of them spoke for a moment.  
  
“No shit,” Pippin said softly. She shook her head, handing the flask to Sam.  
  
“Very well. But I warn you, this is hard stuff.” Sam tipped the flask back and took a gulp. His eyes closed as he tasted it.  
  
“Lor that's fine,” he sighed and handed it to Merry. Merry and Pippin took their own drinks, handing it back. The Watched stared at them, more than a little bemused.  
  
“Aren't you all a little young to be so well accustomed to liquor?”  
  
“Sorry,” Merry laughed, “how young do you think we are?”  
  
“You look like children to me,” the Watcher said, “though... you don’t act like it.”  
  
“We are in our thirties, except for Pip here, and he soon will be.”  
  
“Thirties!” she said in surprise, “and Mr. Baggins? He looked youngest of all. Is he also old enough to drink?” Their expressions dimmed at this. “Sorry, did I offend you?” she asked.  
  
“Frodo is oldest of all of us,” Merry said softly. They sank into thoughtful silence.  
  
Over the years, Frodo's youthful appearance had come up again and again, though it seemed something that Hobbiton hobbits took for granted. It was more often exclaimed over by his relatives who went years without seeing him, only to find him unchanged. Sam had mostly ignored it, or laughed when strangers mistook the Master of the Hill. To him, Frodo was Frodo, and he'd never questioned it.  
  
Once when Frodo was about forty five, Sam recalled a Grubb had come on business to the Hill and upon finding Frodo at the door had asked,  
  
“Hello lad, is your father here?”  
  
“I beg your pardon?” came Frodo’s voice. Sam had been in the vegetable patch, and had laughed to himself.  
  
“Erm. I’m here to see the Master of the Hill, a Mr. Frodo Baggins?”  
  
“Ah. Mr. Grubb. I’m Frodo Baggins.”  
  
“Oh I beg your pardon, sir!” The flustered hobbit replied. Sam had wished he’d seen the hobbits’ face.  
  
“Not at all, please come in.”  
  
Sam had thought it was funny at the time but now it made him feel unsettled. And that hadn’t been the only exchange like that either.  
  
“Poor old Frodo might age a bit from all of this,” Pippin said, “it can’t be easy on him.” Merry sighed and didn’t answer. Sam too felt like keeping quiet, but then Pippin swallowed painfully and clasped his hands together.  
  
“I expect so,” Sam murmured after a moment, “but if I hear you tease him for any gray hairs, Mr. Pippin, you’ll have Sam Gamgee to answer to,” he said gruffly and fixed Pippin with a scowl. Pippin snorted and tried to hide a smile.  
  
“I won’t, Sam!”  
  
The grimness of their mission lifted a bit and even Aglaril smiled.

<>O<>O<>O<> 

Frodo trudged along, still despondent. They entered the clearing where they’d left the cart and Frodo’s eyes went to it. The pony was gone. He blinked in confusion for a moment, wondering if perhaps one of the Man's associates was seeing to him, when Volund’s hand dropped heavy onto his shoulder and he was wrenched back by the collar. Frodo gave a yelp of surprise before the man's hand covered his mouth.  
  
“Hey! Hey!” Hob cried out and Frodo spotted him sprinting foreword. “Help!” he shouted and Frodo’s confusion cleared.  
  
Hobbits appeared from behind trees, rushing foreword. Frodo spotted Gil Hanseed, aiming a bow toward Lotho, who had run after Hob and caught him.  
  
“Turn them hobbits loose!” The Bounder shouted, “you are outnumbered!”  
  
The Man made no answer but in the next instant, the gathered hobbits fell to their knees, dazed and weak, then crumpled to the ground. Frodo let out a muffled cry of dismay and was lifted up, thrown over Volund’s shoulder.  
  
“Bring him, Mr. Lotho!” The Man demanded. From his position facing behind, Frodo watched Lotho haul Hob along, berating him as they went.  
  
“What were you doing?”  
  
“I want to go home!” Hob cried out.  
  
“Well that wasn’t the way to do it!” Lotho growled.  
  
They ran through the woods at a fast clip, until they had put a mile or more between themselves and the clearing. The Man halted, lifting Frodo down.  
  
“Bind him,” Volund said, thrusting Frodo at his cousin. Lotho caught him by the shoulder and took the wrist rope from his pocket where it had been stowed ever since they approached Longbottom. Hob watched in silence, tear tracks running through the grime on his face. Lotho wasn’t paying him any attention now, instead he silently did as he was bid.  
  
Frodo found his attention drawn back to the Man who was stalking back and forth, his face grim. As Lotho tightened the restraints and tested his knots, the Man slowed and reached into the bag he kept strapped at his waist. He drew out a curved dagger. Frodo stiffened, his eyes locked on the knife. Lotho too, peered at it curiously. Then Man walked to their group and reached down, his hand clamping over Hob’s shoulder.  
  
“Ah!” the hobbit cried in alarm, “I’m sorry! I won’t,” but his words broke off as Volund slashed down, making one quick clean strike. Hob's back was to them, so Frodo did not see the wound but he heard the burbling torn cry, before Hob fell.  
  
“What have you done?” Lotho shouted, anguish and pain and shock in his voice. He ran to Hob and fell to his side, rolling him over. Frodo caught one look of the mess at his throat and had to look away, sick. Hob was shaking, and clearly dying. Frodo’s head went foggy and his body began to tremble. He too fell to his knees, dizzy and the sickness within him grew stronger.  
  
“I regret that this was necessary,” Volund said slowly, “but we must move on now. We are narrowly tracked.”  
  
“Hob,” Lotho cried, touching his shoulder and then his face. But Hob's eyes were unfocused and fluttering.  
  
“Mr. Lotho,” Volund growled.  
  
“No,” Lotho sniffed, “no, I can't. He's still alive. I can't.”  
  
_He won't be for long,_ Frodo thought and a bit to his surprise, he felt tears fall down his cheeks.  
  
“He cannot hear you now,” Volund said, “put him down and come along.”  
  
“No,” Lotho murmured, his eyes still on Hob's face. Hob had gone limp and still now.

_It was so fast,_ Frodo found himself thinking.  
  
“If you do not, then I will kill you,” Volund said quietly. Lotho drew in a quick breath of air and looked up at him. He paused only a moment more, then gently, he moved Hob's head to the ground and reached over to close his eyes. He gave a coughing sob and then stood on shaking legs. Frodo too rose, though with more difficulty with his bound hands. They paused one more moment but there was nothing more they could do. And Hob was completely still now, no breath in his lungs. They moved off in silence.

That silence held for several minutes. Frodo was still numb with it, though it made his thoughts race in a way that he hadn't felt in a long while. Lotho broke the silence.  
  
“Why did you do that?” he demanded, “There was no need! He would have stayed! You didn’t have to do such a thing! How could you,” he broke off, clasping a hand over his mouth.  
  
“It seems that our pursuers are closing in,” Volund answered, “I cannot risk one of you running off. With three to look after and no cart to hold you, one of you might have managed to get away. You all knew our destination. It became too risky. So I acted to reduce the chances of mishap. Besides, this is a good lesson for Mr. Baggins. He needs to understand how serious this is. And just what will happen to those hobbits who try and prevent me from doing my job.”  
  
“But,” Lotho said, his voice shaking, “we are partners in this!”  
  
“Perhaps. But I am not sure how deep your loyalty runs. Consider this a test period. And remember that there will be great reward for you if you remain faithful to me.” Lotho fell silent and they walked on in silence once more. After a time he fell to walking at Frodo's side, Volund directly behind them. Frodo glanced at his cousin.  
  
“Lotho,” Frodo said quietly and let his sorrow and pity show in his face and in his voice. Lotho turned to stare at him, his expression cold. He slapped Frodo hard across the face. Frodo jerked back and hissed in pain, staring at him, shocked by his cousin’s reaction.  
  
“Keep moving,” Volund growled from behind, and they resumed their walk.  
  
Hours passed and they moved off the little dirt path and into the woods. Volund relaxed a bit and allowed them to pause for food and water. Frodo sat, grateful for the pause, and even more for the water.  
Refreshed, Frodo began to feel himself pondering the events of the morning. He'd kept himself quiet ever since Lotho slapped him, but now he looked up at Volund and broke his silence.  
  
“You killed him with a knife,” Frodo said slowly. The Man glanced down at him and Frodo looked up, meeting his eyes, “why would you do that, if you can deliver death by your magic?” He heard Lotho hiss through his teeth, but he tried to ignore him. It might hurt Lotho to hear talk like this, but Frodo needed to press the matter.  
  
“I wouldn't waste such effort,” the Man growled.  
  
“You were disposing of him. You weren't out to cause him pain. Was it really easier to cut his throat?”  
  
“You don't know of what you speak.”  
  
“I think you can't kill with your magic or else you would have done it. It would have been much faster. And you wanted the matter handled quickly above all else. And,” he paused, “you might have killed all those hobbits back there. That would have been better for you. For now, they have seen us and they will tell others. It will only make your trek through the Shire all the more treacherous. If you could have killed them, I think you would have. It wasn’t your value for life that spared them.”

“You are very tiresome, Mr. Baggins,” Volund said, “and we should be moving on.” They rose once more and continued their walk. 

<>O<>O<>O<> 

The afternoon was young when Sam caught the sound of a cart not too far distant. Aglaril glanced up, peering through the trees.  
  
“Ah, Hanseed,” she said and rose, “Come, let’s go and meet him. He might spot Halbarad otherwise and give away his position.”  
  
Together, they walked through a small thicket that opened out onto a small farmers track. There, they found a group of ten or so hobbits, walking alongside a small flat cart, hitched to two ponies. Sam recognized one of the ponies as the one that Volund had hired.  
  
“I thought that was you lot,” Hanseed said, coming around to get them.  
  
“What are you doing out here?” Merry asked.  
  
“Looking for Mr. Frodo of course,” Hanseed said, “I’ve a bit of news on that front. If you’ve more than a moment?” Merry turned to Aglaril. She nodded.  
  
“It’s full sun now. The goblin won’t risk travel for a few hours yet, I think.”  
  
“You’ve had some run in with the conjuror?” Merry asked, gesturing to the pony. Hanseed nodded.  
  
“We found his cart, just out of Longbottom, this morning,” Hanseed said, “and his pony was still there, so we figured he’d be back. And sure enough, just a little while later, we spotted him, along with Mr. Lotho Sackville Baggins, Hob Hatfield and Mr. Frodo,” he said. There were drawn in breaths.  
  
“When?” Merry asked.  
  
“Maybe a bit after second breakfast.”  
  
“Was Mr. Frodo alright?” Sam asked.  
  
“Seemed fine. I only saw him a moment though,” Hanseed sighed. “That Man realized we where there and he grabbed Mr. Frodo pretty quick. One of my lads almost got a shot at him, but then with him holding Mr. Frodo, well, he didn’t dare,” Hanseed sighed, “and then our whole company come over sick and weak like. Can’t understand it.”  
  
“He did the same to us,” Merry said, “at the Three Farthing Stone.”  
  
“It’s not all he did,” Hanseed motioned them to follow. They stepped around to the back of a flat cart, where a bundle lay covered. “We followed after them of course, soon as we were able. Not too far distant, we found Hob,” the hobbit looked deeply upset and touched the bundle. Sam drew in a breath as a faint stench of death hit him. It was cold, so the smell was more muted than it might have been, but it was unmistakable. Sam felt his throat close and a tremble settle into his chest.  
  
“Why?” Pippin asked weakly.  
  
“Hob called out to us and tried to run,” Hanseed said grimly, “we think that’s why.”  
  
“This is too horrible,” Merry murmured.  
  
“Yes it is. We intend to bring Hob back to Bywater to his mother. We left the Man’s cart in the woods, as it was bulky and slow.” He sighed, “perhaps I ought to send this lot on and join you?”  
  
“We would appreciate that,” Merry said, “but I wonder if I might ask a favor? Our friend Fatty Bolger is in his way down here and he hasn’t a way to find us. You have some tracking ability, have you not?”  
  
“I have,” Hanseed said, “I’ll bring him to you, if that is what you want.”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
They said their goodbyes and began to pick their way back through the thicket to Halbarad’s hiding place.  
  
“Why’d you send him for Fatty?” Pippin whispered, “he’s a Bounder. More qualified for this work than any of us.”  
  
“Maybe so,” Merry sighed, “but he’s not qualified to deal with goblins and this Man. We are walking into something very dangerous and I don’t want to risk anyone’s life who isn’t prepared to give it. Besides, if something terrible happens, Fatty is our only chance of outside help. And without help to find us he’ll wander the South Farthing for days before he finds us.”  
  
“Quiet now,” Aglaril whispered, as they drew nearer. They sank into silence and crawled back into position with Halbarad. Sam tucked himself into the bracken and stared at the rock outcrop where the goblin hid with Frodo’s trunk.  
  
He hated this waiting.  
  
While they waited, Frodo was at the mercy of that murderer. And not just a murderer, but someone who would kill if he was inconvenienced. What if Frodo tried to run? Or wouldn't give him what he wanted?  
  
_No, he’s important to the man. He needs Frodo to tell him where that ring is,_ Sam thought. But maybe Frodo had. If that trunk had the ring in it, then Frodo’s usefulness to the Man would soon be over. Searing fear and pain hit him at the thought and Sam felt tears roll down his cheeks. He gritted his teeth and tried not to make a sound, though he very much wanted to.  
  
_If that trunk reaches the Man and we aren’t there when it does, then he might kill Frodo very quickly. Even if we are there, close behind, he might still do it before we could stop him._  
  
And how would they stop a conjurer anyway? Even with the Rangers? Surely he could send them into a swoon as easily as he did a hobbit? And Merry said the Man told Frodo that he could kill with his magic. And then too, there were the goblins. How could they ever fight against such forces and get Frodo away? They were surely all going to their deaths.  
  
_If Frodo is still alive when we reach him, then we might do naught more than make him have to watch us all get slaughtered before his eyes,_  Sam thought, trembling, and pressed his hands against his face. _We don’t know what we’re doing. And we might as well be walking into a trap._ He felt as if all the light in the world had been drawn out, and the future, if there could be one, was nothing more than a pit of blackness and loss. He was drowned in grief.  
  
Sam blinked, a memory coming on him at that thought. It reminded him of something Frodo had told him once, on a long ago May night.  
  
He had been about ten, and he and his oldest brother had been walking along the lane, just under the Hill, cutting across to make their way back to the Row. They'd been out in the back orchards, where they'd been cleaning out the ditches and fence rows. Sam had made the mistake of trying to tell his brother one of Bilbo's stories to pass the time. He'd tried to pick one that Hamson might like, but almost immediately Hamson had snapped at him to stop jabbering. Sam had felt a little miffed, but he was used to such things. He'd gone about his work, setting aside his disappointment, so that by the time they started back he had long forgotten it. But Hamson hadn't. He must have stewed on it all afternoon, so that he was worked up over it, and lit into Sam as they walked back.  
  
“It's foolishness,” Hamson hissed at him. Sam looked up at him, bewildered. “What good is any of it? For one like you I mean? It's bad enough for folks like the Bagginses to lose their heads in moldy books written by fairies- it cracks them. But they can afford it I reckon. Now, one like you Sam, it will ruin you. See if it don't.” Sam shook his head.  
  
“Tis just for fun; like the songs at the pub. It don't ruin a person to hear a little poetry,” he said carefully.  
  
“Poetry!” Hamson snorted, “well song or poetry, it's rubbish. Made to take you away from what's important. And that's what's here and now. Don't you see?” he demanded. Sam didn't answer. “You don't of course. It was a bad day Dad took you up the Hill. Those books are wastes of time. And none of it is fit for you.”  
  
“Mr. Bilbo says it is,” Sam murmured. Hamson twisted suddenly and Sam felt a sharp slap across his face. He cried out in pain and shock.  
  
“Lor you've a mouth on you tonight!” Hamson growled, “you just listen to me. I know what I'm talking about. It's a wicked thing, reading and mooning on things that don't make no never mind in your life. I hope you never learn to read. It will ruin you for good, lad.” Sam stared up at him, silent and angry. “You’ve few enough brains,” Hamson added, “You'll rot what you have by-”  
  
His brother's voice dried up. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. Hamson was staring behind him, his eyes wide. Sam turned and gasped.  
Frodo was walking down the path from the upper gardens. Hamson hissed in dismay and glared down at Sam.  
  
“You brought him down here, hollering out like that!”  
  
“I'm sorry,” Sam sniffed and felt tears roll down his cheeks, cold in the night air. Frodo drew near them, his eyes locked on Hamson.  
  
“Evening Mr. Frodo,” Hamson said slowly, drawing his cap off and bowing, “Beg your pardon if our noise was a bother.”  
  
“Not at all,” Frodo said stiffly, his gaze moving to Sam. Sam tried to curl in on himself and hoped Frodo couldn't tell he was crying. He already felt so low and foolish. And now he'd cried out and brought the young master down from the Hill...  
  
“Are you ready for your lesson, Sam?” Frodo asked. Sam blinked.  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“Don't tell me you've forgotten,” Frodo asked his voice slightly impatient, “the lesson your father asked about? How to make your planting schedules from the movements of the stars?” Sam gaped.  
  
“Oh. Yes, sir,” he said.  
  
“Come along, then,” Frodo said and turned away, “Good evening Hamson.”  
  
“Good evening, sir.”  
  
Sam watched Frodo a moment, then bounded after him, his short legs taking him quickly up to Frodo's side, his brother left without a word or even a glance. They walked in silence until Frodo took them to the very top of the Hill. He sat in the middle, crossing his legs under him. Sam sat down beside him, keeping quiet. Frodo didn't speak either. He stared out across the dark hills below, his expression closed off. After a while, Sam couldn't stand it.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” he said softly. Frodo's gaze shifted to him, and eased.  
  
“If your brother asks your father about this lesson I'm teaching you, then I'm caught out in my lie. But I don't care. If they press you about it tell them that I lied. Or that I'm cracked. Whichever. Both are true.”  
  
“Nay, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said softly. Frodo gave him a soft smile.  
  
“Well. I'm sorry if it causes you trouble,” he sighed, “but the alternative was socking your brother in the face.”  
  
“What for?” Sam asked and frowned, “if it's cause he slapped me, that's alright, sir. That's just something brothers do.” Frodo didn't answer, only lifted his gaze up to the sky. Sam blinked and crawled closer slipping himself under Frodo's arm. Frodo moved to accommodate him, setting his hand on Sam's shoulder. “It's okay, sir,” he said softly, “don't you go taking any of Hamson's words to heart, if that's what's bothering you. He's an ass. Everyone says so.”  
  
“It's not me I'm worried about,” Frodo said gently and Sam felt Frodo's clasp tighten for a moment.  
  
“Ah! I don't heed him,” Sam sniffed, “nor any of the others.”  
  
“Good lad,” Frodo breathed. Sam settled in and let his eyes close.  
  
“Could you tell me a story?” he asked. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“I'm supposed to be teaching you about the stars, aren't I?” he asked, “I'll tell you their stories if you want.”  
  
“The stars? They all of them have stories?” Sam asked, looking up at the sky stretched out before them.  
  
“Well! I suppose they must,” Frodo laughed, “I'm sorry to say that I don't know all of them. But I will tell you the ones I know.” Sam felt a small burning joy rise up within him.  
  
“I'd like that,” he said quietly and brought his gaze back down to look at Frodo. Frodo was watching him, fondness in his eyes.  
  
“Are you sure, you want these stories that I tell you?” he asked, his voice quiet, “the more of them you hear the more trouble there will be for you. That at least is true, from what I've seen and heard people say around the village.”  
  
“I want the stories,” Sam said, “I meant it. I don't heed those folks.”  
  
“Just because you like them so?” Frodo asked softly, his voice thoughtful. Sam frowned and leaned into Frodo's side as the wind picked up.  
  
“I need them, sir,” Sam murmured, “though, I don't understand it. That need.”  
  
Neither spoke for a bit. The wind rustled the oak's branches above and the grasses and flowers around them. Sam let the silence go. It was warm and comfortable, and he knew sometimes that Frodo needed these spaces, especially when their talk moved down into deep important things. He expected, that when Frodo was ready, he would start to tell one of his stories. But he didn't. When he spoke, his voice was hushed and solemn.  
  
“The stories do take you up and away,” he said. Sam blinked and looked up at him. “And put you in a place where you see beautiful and strong and sad things that you'd never see if you stayed down on the ground,” Frodo said slowly, “those things might not seem like they make much of a difference to a hobbit but they do. They change you. Make you strong and give you wonders to hold in your heart. Things that you can hold as a talisman when everything around you goes dark and you can't find light because you're drown by grief. And grief, it comes to everyone. So, it's cruel, I think, to wall off those powerful stories and the good they bring, from one who would find comfort in them.” He turned to look down at Sam. Sam gazed up, wonder struck. “I will always give you stories, Sam.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam murmured. Frodo smiled at him and then turned his face back up to the sky. He lifted his hand and pointed to the bright star near the moon.  
  
“Have I told you the story of the morning star?”  
  
“No,” Sam breathed.  
  
“Then we will start there,” Frodo sighed, “the Elves call that star, Eärendil.”  
  
Sam sighed softly, soothed by the memory.  
  
_Aye. He’s give me songs and stories and most of all, he give me his love,_ he thought, _Those things are my talisman to hold in the dark. Those things will give me the strength to go on. And that's all I need, isn't it?_  
  
“Ah,” Halbarad whispered. Sam snapped to attention. The goblin was peeking out from his hiding place, moving cautiously out into the afternoon shadows. The Rangers waited a moment as the goblin grew more confident, and hefting the trunk up once more, he began to slink off.  
  
Silently, the Rangers and hobbits followed after.

<>O<>O<>O<>  

Frodo stumbled along in front, until they found a break in the trees. Volund’s hand came down on his shoulder and they paused. Lotho looked up.  
  
“Where are we?” Volund growled.  
  
“This is my land,” Lotho said, gesturing, “you see the house there? That’s Highleaf. The tobacco fields are there, there are the drying sheds, and the vineyard is there,” he waved to a long hole dug into the side of a ridge, “and just to the east is the River Shirebourn.”  
  
“Ah. And your dock,” Volund said approvingly.  
  
“Yes, just down there a ways,” Lotho nodded, “shall we go first to Highleaf? I’m starved, and I can put together a fine meal for us,” Lotho said hopefully. Volund shook his head.  
  
“No. We go to the dock and will wait there. Our first priority is getting Mr. Baggins and his treasure out of the Shire as soon as may be. My lads have told me they’ve got a boat waiting at your dock. Once they bring Mr. Baggins’ trunk we will depart at once.”  
  
“Oh well, of course,” Lotho said, “but you don’t really need me for that. I can head up to the house and have supper? I’ll bring it down.”  
  
“No. You are to stay where I can see you,” Volund said, “you must earn trust. If you prove reliable up to our departure then I will allow you to remain here in the Shire while we continue south. But if you give me a reason to doubt you, then I will ask you to accompany us to the south lands. You will meet my Master and that may convince you that you do not want to make an enemy of him.”  
  
“Oh, there’s no need for that, I understand that very well already,” Lotho said. Volund watched him.

They walked down to the river and Frodo observed the little cluster of outbuildings and boat sheds with some interest. He hadn’t known there were hobbits in this side of the Water who used boats, but Lotho had a working dock.  
  
_It’s for his weed and wine,_ Frodo realized, _this deal to sell it South isn’t his first venture. That must be where some of his money is coming from. And why he’s getting bolder and crueler._ Tied up at the largest dock landing was a skiff and sitting on its deck was a creature. At their appearance, he stood and peered at them.  
  
“Captain,” he bobbed, “glad that you were able to get down here. And with the prisoner,” he added, eyeing Frodo hungrily. Frodo suppressed a shiver.  
  
“Get him on board and keep him bound,” Volund said, thrusting Frodo at the goblin. “Mr. Lotho, this is my associate, Golag.”  
  
“Pleased,” Lotho said, stiffly. The goblin squinted down at Lotho and smiled, showing his sharp teeth.  
  
“So you are the hobbit who owns all this? Very pretty.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lotho said. Golag reached down and ran his hands down Frodo’s sides.  
  
“These hobbits look like they’d make good eating, Captain. Any chance we don’t need this one alive?”  
  
“Don’t kill that one,” Volund growled. Golag huffed and lifted Frodo up by his collar, and walked out onto the boat’s plank, taking him aboard. He tossed Frodo down, not bothering to set him back on his feet.  
  
“Where is Lugruk and Dakrat?”  
  
“Still off getting that parcel,” Golag shrugged.  
  
“It shouldn’t have taken long.”  
  
“The sun will have slowed then,” Golag hissed.  
  
“And what of you been doing?" Volund asked sharply,  "Pilfering Mr. Lotho’s stores I shouldn’t wonder? You were supposed to meet us near Longbottom. I had to find my way and trek through backwoods. I needed a scout and a navigator! And to top it off, I had to keep a close watch on these two by myself. It was a miserable trip and took much too long. Where were you?”  
  
“I did go up to the Hobbit village this morning! But you weren’t at the cart. I found little hobbit tracks all around. I thought some disaster had fallen on you.”  
  
“So you cane back here to wait for the other two. Then you’d have gone off!”  
  
“No, Captain,” Golag protested, “but what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know where you’d gone or what had happened. At any rate, I searched your cart and recovered a few things,” he paused and went to one of the holds on the skiff. “I got your bags and the rations. And I found this funny thing,” he hefted up a small set of leather armor. Frodo gasped. His dwarvish armor!  
It had been stripped off him that first night, when Volund searched him. Volund glanced at it and snorted. “If you’ve no claim to this little hobbit skin then I want it,” Golag said.  
  
“I don't care about that. Claim it as prize if you wish,” Volund said dismissively and Golag cackled in glee. The Man gave a last look around the lands nearby then sighed and pushed Lotho toward the boat. Lotho drew in a breath, panic in his face.  
  
“I -I say! I can’t!” he cried.  
  
“You are getting on board,” Volund growled at him and picked him up.  
  
“Ah! No! I’m terribly afraid of boats!”  
  
Volund put him on the boat and drew up the plank after them. Lotho scrambled to the side and gazed at the shore, gripping the side. The goblin laughed at him. Volund took a seat near the mast and turned his gaze toward the woods, settling in for a wait. Golag, meanwhile was making quick work of the dwarf armor.  
  
Frodo watched the goblin tear the armor apart, snapping the metal fittings off, pawing over them in delight. The remnants of the armor were tossed to the deck, crumpled and shredded. Frodo stared at it. Though he hadn't looked at it in years, he'd loved that gift when the dwarf presented it to him. It was another token of care and support and love. And now, it was ruined.  
  
_They will find my magic ring,_ Frodo thought, feeling a light hum of panic in his mind, _they will find it and destroy it. Just like everything else I love and cherish._ He'd been foolish to try and bring it here. How could he have done something to bring such a dear little treasure into the grasp of such creatures? _I’m no burglar. I don’t have Bilbos wiles or his silver tongue or his quick hand. And whatever luck I do have seems to have run out._ He sat back and gazed up at the trees above, lit by the rapidly fading afternoon light.  
  
The ring.  
  
Even if he managed by some miracle to get a hold of it, he had mixed feelings about using it. He would use it of course, but it still gave him a feeling of unease. Gandalf’s warning not withstanding, he’d never liked the little ring much. He smiled to himself. Probably because he blamed it for some of Bilbo’s worst rascally acts. Like the time Bilbo had used it to sneak off and left Frodo to deal with the SBs. That had been the first time Frodo had been truly hurt and angry at Bilbo.  
  
The day had started well, but around luncheon there had come a knock at the door. Bilbo and Frodo both walked out into the hall and caught a glimpse of Lobelia’s hat bobbing in front of a window.  
  
“Drat it!” Bilbo cried in alarm as they both sprung back, and slammed their backs into the nearest wall, trying to disappear. Frodo waited in tense silence, cringing at each rap at the door, waiting to hear Sam’s muffled voice, politely telling her that the Bagginses has gone to Buckland or Tookland or some such lie. But Sam didn’t come. Frodo caught his breath, remembering that Sam was working at the Braceguirdles’.  
  
“Damn,” he whispered and turned to remind Bilbo of the bad news, but to his shock, Bilbo was gone. He gasped. “Bilbo?” he hissed, “Bilbo?” But his words went unanswered.  
  
_He left me!_ Frodo realized, his horror shifting to anger.  
  
The door latch clicked and Frodo turned in a panic. Lobelia was opening the door! Before he could dive into a room and hide the door stood open and Lobelia, Otho and Lotho were peering at him, a very sour expression on all their faces.  
  
“Frodo Baggins, is this how you welcome guests? And family at that?” Lobelia demanded. Frodo groaned and straightened, walking down the hall to meet his fate.  
  
It was after sunset before Frodo heard the back door open and quiet footsteps coming down the hall. He sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and a rotten headache. He didn’t turn around when he heard Bilbo enter the kitchen, but resolutely glared at the window and drank his tea.   
  
“Hello,” Bilbo said, nerves in his voice. A packet of mushrooms was laid on the table before him. Frodo lifted his gaze to scowl up at his uncle. “I got your favorites,” he added hopefully.  
  
“You left me,” Frodo accused.  
  
“I,” Bilbo pouted and sat down, his expression swinging between defensiveness and desperation. “I didn’t! I trusted you would take care of yourself. If you got caught then it just means you should have hidden better. Yes, you must learn if you are to be a proper burglar,” he sniffed, and added, “I thought you would manage.”  
  
“Well I didn't,” Frodo huffed, “it didn’t occur to you to stick around and make sure I was alright?”  
  
“I wasn’t leaving you to face goblins,” Bilbo frowned, “It’s only the Sackville-Bagginses.” Frodo gave him a thunderous look. Bilbo went instantly contrite. “Frodo,” he pleaded, “I can’t face her! You don’t understand.”  
  
“You left me to deal with all of them when they were in a particularly rotten mood. By myself! I didn’t even have Sam to create some diversion or excuse to get away!”  
  
“Oh good little Sam,” Bilbo said dreamily, “remember when he set a smoke bomb off in the back garden for us?” Frodo drew in a breath and gave his uncle a stern look.  
  
“I had to sit here and listen to them berate me for three hours!” he said, determined to stay on topic, “they were bent on torching me into telling your whereabouts. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me where you’d hied off to, so that I could break down and betray you.”  
  
“Ah well. Strategy,” Bilbo shrugged. Frodo only scowled.  
  
“What did you do to them?”  
  
“They didn’t tell you?” Bilbo asked in surprise.  
  
“I think their pride got in the way. And they’ve learned not to tell me your exploits. Because I just laugh at them.” Bilbo looked far too pleased at this. “At least if they had I could have taken some enjoyment in the conversation. But even that was denied me. So tell me, what did you do?” Frodo demanded.  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo puffed out his cheeks and looked down at the table, “it was just a trifle,” he said carelessly.  
  
“Bull shit.”  
  
“Don’t swear Frodo,” Bilbo said primly. Frodo raised his eyebrows, “Alright you can swear about the SBs. I certainly do.”  
  
“What did you do to them?”  
  
“I may have,” Bilbo squirmed, “possibly gone golfing with them, led them out to the farthest hole, got them a bit lost, and then abandoned them.” Frodo sighed. Bilbo squinted adding a muttered, “... in a thunderstorm.”  
  
“You are an absolute rascal.”  
  
“I am not a rascal! I am a burglar, thank you,” Bilbo sniffed. “I was hoping for a laugh?” he added hopefully. Frodo stared at him, frowning.  
  
“I might have laughed,” he said, “but that was before three hours of berating from Otho and Lobelia.”  
  
“Drat them. They always ruin a joke,” Bilbo muttered. Frodo sipped his tea and watched Bilbo.  
  
“You used your magic ring didn’t you? To leave them on the golf course,” he sniffed. Bilbo shrugged.  
  
“I might have.”  
  
“And you used it to make your get away this afternoon.”  
  
“I may not have goblins and spiders after me now but I still have absolutely valid reasons for keeping it handy.” There was something defensive in his voice. Needlessly defensive.  
  
“I suppose.”  
  
“Still,” Bilbo shot him an apologetic look, “I shouldn’t use it to abandon you. That was bad of me.”  
  
“Yes it was!” Frodo frowned.  
  
“Oh Frodo, what can I do? Can you forgive me?” he asked, “we could go for a little journey? Maybe up to Oatbarton? Hm? Go walking and camp or stay at little country inns? Would you like that my boy?”  
  
“Honestly, trying to bribe me!” Frodo huffed. Bilbo looked down at the table, biting his lip. They were silent for a moment.   
  
“I really am very sorry,” Bilbo said after a moment. Frodo regarded him and Bilbo met his gaze. “I won’t do it again.” Frodo was silent, studying him. Bilbo finally seemed to understand just what kind of a blow it had been.  
  
“Alright then,” Frodo said slowly, “I forgive you.” He paused and added quieter, “we're in this together.” Bilbo smiled. He stood and paused to put his arm around Frodo’s shoulders, ruffle his hair and kissed his head.  
  
“Yes, we are. And it was very bad of me to forget that. I will do better,” he said. Frodo smiled faintly and blinked against the prick of tears. Bilbo patted his back and then went to the stove. “What would you like to eat?” he asked, “and go ahead and eat your mushrooms! And we will go up to Oatbartin. I’m not bribing you now, I just want to make it up to you.”  
  
Frodo smiled, letting himself get lost in memories of the trip. It had been very nice, and Bilbo had been especially kind and thoughtful to him during the trip. He seemed to see that he had done something worse than just slipping off to avoid unpleasant relatives and that it truly had hurt Frodo. And Bilbo had never done anything like that again.   
  
“Oh very nice!” came a high grating voice. Frodo sat up in alarm. “I near kill my self dragging this trunk across the world and I come and find the plank pulled up!” Volund stood and moved to lower the plank.  
  
“There you are Lugruk,” he said, his voice pleased. “But where is Dakrat?”  
  
“Killed by Ranger scum,” Lugruk sneered as he came on board and set the chest down. Frodo’s heart was suddenly pounding to see something so familiar thrust at him now.  
  
“Rangers? Here?” Volund drew in a breath. “Did you make sure you weren’t followed?” he demanded.  
  
“Of course I did!” Lugruk huffed.  
  
“Rangers,” Golag growled, “they’re tricky. We’d best get down river!”  
  
“Not yet,” Volund said and went to stand over Frodo, “open it.” Frodo looked up and nodded. Volund reached down and unbound his hands, then he drug Frodo to the chest and pushed him toward it. “Go on!”  
  
“You'll want to stand back a bit,” Frodo said, hopeful. The goblins sneered at him and Volund gave him an impatient look. Frodo turned back to the trunk. Gingerly, he lifted the lid, his heart pounding.  
  
_I can't do this. I'm not a bugler. I'm going to foul it,_ he thought. His eyes went to a large bright red object at the back of the trunk. Even half obscured he could make out the shape of one of Gandalf's Horsetail Hummer rockets. Frodo took a breath and leaned over the trunk, reaching for it. As he did, he braced himself by putting his right hand down on the mass of jumbled object below.  
  
“What is that?” Lugruk hissed and Frodo saw the goblin's shadow move over him.  
  
“It is a fire-work,” Frodo said and slipped his right hand down just a bit, as if adjusting his weight. His fingers grappled down until they touched one of the two books that he sought. Frodo was very careful to keep his eyes on the rocket.  
  
“Don't let him touch it!” Golag growled and a sharp clawed hand gripped his shoulder.  
  
“What is it? What does it do?” Lugruk demanded.  
  
“It is a magic rocket, made by Gandalf the Wizard. His mark is on it, just there,” Frodo pointed and lifted his eyes to Volund's even as he touched the envelope between the two books. “Just as you asked for.”  
  
“What?” Volund said in a flat hard voice.  
  
“A magical object. Gifted to me by a Wizard,” Frodo said and his hand closed around the envelope, crumpling it in his palm. He could feel the small hard weight inside. Volund stepped forward suddenly and yanked him off his feet, throwing him to the deck. Frodo cried out as he hit the hard wood and curled up in pain. But through the pain, he slipped his hand into his pocket, pressing the envelope and ring deep inside.  
  
Almost immediately he was wrenched up by the hair and he snatched his hand out of his pocket. Frodo gritted his teeth and looked up to see Lugruk glowering down at him. _He's caught me,_ Frodo thought and froze. The goblin snorted at him.  
  
“You didn't answer me. What does this fire-work do?” he snarled.  
  
“It shoots up and explodes,” Frodo said through watering eyes.  
  
“Then it is a weapon,” Lugruk mused, “Here Volund! This is how the Wizard was going to do it! He's been smuggling these fire-works into the hobbit's warren!” Volund gave him an impatient look.  
  
“You wouldn't need fire-works to take over this land. These hobbits are not fierce,” Volund snorted.  
  
“Oh I bet they can bite!” Lugruk laughed and shook Frodo, “go on! Give us a bite!” Frodo only stared at them.  
  
“You think Gandalf was trying to take over the Shire?” he asked.  
  
“Never you mind,” Volund growled, “this fire-work is not what I am after and you know it.”  
  
“What?” Frodo cried trying to sound surprised, “I thought for certain this was what you were after! I've given you the only magical thing that he's ever given me!” he added, “and a very valuable thing it is!”  
  
“This is nothing but tricks and nonsense,” Volund snarled.  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Lugruk said slowly.  
  
“We'll take this fire-work if you don't want it, Captain,” Golag said and turned back to the chest. “Are there anymore of these?” he began to pilfer through the contents. Volund turned and pushed him away, turning the trunk over and spilling the contents out. Frodo watched as the familiar clutter fell into piles. The Man searched quickly through it all. Frodo kept himself very still.  
  
_I did it,_ he thought. _I stole it right out from under their noses! But, I'm not through this yet,_ he winced at the tight hold at his neck. If only they would put him down or let him out of their sight for just a moment. He just had to wait for the right opportunity.  
  
“This little hoarder!” Golag snapped as he watched Volund search, “Lugruk, come and help.”  
  
“No, you bind him!” Volund said pointing, “I don't trust this hobbit. He is a liar and there is mischief in him. And this,” he strode over and took the firework from Golag. “This goes back in the trunk. I’m going to have a proper search of this thing,” he glared at Frodo, “I’m going to take apart every inch of this trunk and all it’s clutter and we’ll see then!” He huffed and piled everything back inside before lifting it up into his arms. “Mr. Lotho, I need a place where I can safely examine this and store it if need be.” Lotho, who had been cowering at the far side, crawled closer, unwilling to stand on the deck.  
  
“Very well. My house.”  
  
“Not the house! I want somewhere close. I don’t trust this lot,” he growled. Lugruk and Golag sent him silent looks. Lotho swallowed.  
  
“The wine cave, then? It’s just there,” he pointed near the rocky incline. “It’s quite secure.”  
  
“Come then, show me,” Volund growled. Lotho looked thrilled at the prospect of getting off the boat and crawled quickly to the plank. Volund turned back, "Stay here and keep watch on that hobbit. Do not let him out of your sight. I will return shortly. Have the boat ready to leave when I do." The goblins grumbled acknowledgments. Volund turned away again. Together he and Lotho stepped off and walked up river to the cave entrance, disappearing into the deepening shade. Twilight was fading now and the stars were emerging.  
  
“Doesn’t trust us is it?” Golag hissed.  
  
“If you ask me he’s acted very suspicious,” Lugruk whispered as he bound Frodo to one of the masts, yanking his hands behind his back, “I think he’s trying to take that firework for himself.”  
  
“He wants something for himself alright,” Golag agreed, “I was told to be on the look out for that.”  
  
“Were you?”  
  
They hissed together in quiet dark talk and Frodo closed his eyes against it, turning his attention away from them. He was feeling more and more desperate.  
  
He'd thought he might have some chance in the night to use the ring and slip away. But even if they did take their eyes off him, his hands were bound, tied with his hands behind his back. Salvation might have been in his pocket, but he couldn't reach the ring.  
  
_If I can’t get to the ring then I don’t really have a chance. I’ll stay bound here until we disembark. And then what? By then I’ll be out of the Shire._  
  
The night was so cold and dark. Frodo stared up at the stars, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. This would be his last night in the Shire. He had been so focused on how hard this would be on his friends that he hadn’t let himself think about his danger. Now he was cowed by it.  
  
They might keep him bound for the entire trip. Eventually, the goblins might search him, or take his clothing as a prize. If they did, they would find the ring. At any rate, it looked as if he was going into darkness and unless he was very lucky, he would never have the chance to come back again. Only strangers and cruelty and questioners and men with plans too big for him were waiting out there. No one who loved him would ever find him again and he would be killed when his usefulness ran out.  
  
_I want to go home. I want Sam._  
  
The tears came harder until he couldn’t see the stars anymore.  
  
_I want my friends._  
  
He gasped against a sob.  
  
_I want Bilbo._  
  
_And I want my Sam._

“The stars are with the voyager, wherever he may sail,” he sang softly.  
  
“Here you! Stop squeaking nasty little rat,” Lugruk hissed at him. Frodo cast a look at the goblin but went on singing.  
  
“The moon is constant to his time, the sun, she will never fail.”  
  
“Sun is it? He’s having some sport with us!”  
  
“Is he then?” Golag growled and sprang up. “Can't you do just a little of what you are told, halfling?” he said through his teeth, and pushed a rag into Frodo's mouth, then bound it. Frodo recoiled at the foul thing, but there was nothing he could do. Golag went to the ale barrel, rather than taking his post once more, and the goblins squabbled about opening it. Frodo tried to block their voice out.  
  
He wasn't sorry for singing.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Sam slunk lower to the ground and slowed his pace, doing as the Rangers ahead of him did. Merry and Pippin's whispered conversation halted and they all became more alert. The land was changing as they walked, thick wooded lands giving way to rolling hills with more rocky inclines and plains, though as the light faded, they could see less and less of the land. Sam had been down in the South Farthing before, but never this far south. The Rangers crept to a short cliff side and paused. Sam caught the sound of water moving below, and a lot of water at that. 

"We must be near the River Shirebourne," Merry whispered. Pippin hummed in agreement. Sam pushed his way up between the Rangers and peered down. Sure enough, there was a long snaking length of dark water below.

“There,” Aglaril murmured, pointing down river. Sam hung over the side of the incline and caught his breath. There was a boat, and it was lit with lanterns. Distantly, he could see that there were figures clustered at one end of the boat, snatches of their voices came on the wind. Down at the other end, tied to the foremast was a small figure. Sam drew in a breath, excitement and panic lighting through him.  
  
“Ah!” he cried softly, “Frodo!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frodo and Sam's song is an untitled song by Thomas Hood (1798-1845). I took the liberty of adding Tolkien genders for the sun and moon. You can read the original [here](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/26715/26715-h/26715-h.htm#page110)


	24. A Heist on the River Shirebourn

Fatty Bolger stared into the dark trees around him and shivered. He was riding Thorin down a lonely little road between Pincup and Longbottom, and he hadn’t seen a sign of hobbitkind in hours. He had only a vague idea of where Lotho Sackville Baggins’ property was located. He’d thought he could rely on local hobbits once he traveled far enough south. But now he wasn’t so sure.  
  
“Well this road goes somewhere,” he said softly to himself. _Yes_ , he thought, _but what might find me in the woods before i reach the end of this road?_ He felt suddenly and deeply aware that the Shire wasn’t the same soft warm place it had always been. Now there were things in the shadows that watched and waited.  
  
“And even if I do find my way to Lotho’s property I wonder what I’ll find?” he sighed. There had been something in Merry’s eyes when they’d shared one last rush conversation, while Pippin and Sam had gone to see the master Ranger. He’d understood then that Merry saw a good chance of death for himself and Pippin and Sam if they followed through on their search after Frodo. And if not death, then something almost as terrifying.  
  
“Fatty,” Merry had said softly, “you know there’s a chance we won’t find him before they take Frodo out of the Shire.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“If that’s so, we’re going after him,” Merry said in a low voice. Fatty had sputtered at this and fixed Merry with a hard look.  
  
“Pippin is a bit young, don’t you think?” he’d said, “And are you sure it’s what Sam wants?”  
  
“Pip is young, but we’ve discussed it. Nothing I say will change his mind. And Sam? Oh, I am very sure he will follow after Frodo. No matter if he has to leave the Shire to do it.”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure,” Fatty said uncomfortably.  
  
“I am,” Merry sighed, “listen, I tell you this because if you come south and find that we’ve gone on, then don’t linger in the South Farthing. Just come back here.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“For one thing, try and keep Bag End and the Row in one piece. I think Lotho will have done something to go after both. And,” he dropped his voice low, “try and keep people from talking on Frodo’s business. At least, the business that connects him up with hobbits who can vanish into thin air. It may be too late, but I have a feeling that such talk is more dangerous now than ever before.”  
  
“Right then,” Fatty murmured.  
  
“And last,” Merry took a breath, “we will need someone to tell our parents. Mine and Pippin’s and Sam’s.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Fatty said under his breath, “and just what should I tell them?”  
  
“Well,” Merry winced, “that we aren’t dead?”  
  
“That’s it?”  
  
“Oh. I suppose you must tell them we went after Frodo. I don’t think it’s safe to say more. And don’t let Thain Paladin send the hobbitry in arms after us.” He laughed a little, “I always thought that when this moment came I would have everything worked out and ready. One of my master plans. But it’s all come on us so quickly and horribly.” Fatty patted his shoulder.  
  
“Ah well. Next time eh?” he said cheerfully. Merry snorted and laughed heartily.  
  
“Yes! Next time Frodo is made to leave the Shire in the dead of night with darkness all around I swear I will be ready!”  
  
“At any rate,” Fatty added, “you’re not bad at improvising either Merry Brandybuck, so you just do your best. You always seem to find your way.”  
  
“Thank you,” Merry said quietly. He lifted his eyes to Fatty's. “Take especial care of the Gamgees. They’ll need it more than the Brandybucks and Tooks. Without Frodo, and without Sam, they will be in a more precarious and vulnerable situation.”  
  
“Leave it me,” Fatty nodded.  
  
“If we do leave the Shire, I’ll try and leave some message for you. But I may not be able to,” Merry sighed.  
  
“That’s alright then,” Fatty said quietly. After that, Pippin and Sam had rejoined them, and they’d gone off, leaving Fatty behind. He watched them go, then turned back to the field and went to sit beside the injured Ranger. They sat in silence and watched as the dawn light spread over the field, before it finally fell on the writhing pile. Those screams were still ringing in his ears.  
  
It was late afternoon before the work of disposing of the dead was done. The Ranger hadn’t been able to do much in the way to help, but he’d given good instructions. They’d burned the bodies. To Fatty's surprise, they burned relatively quickly and completely, leaving ash and bone, and little else.  
  
“They have been dead for a long time,” the Ranger said quietly, “and a lot of what they were, dissolved away when the sunlight hit them.”  
  
The Gamgees has offered their help, but Fatty stoutly said that he would handle the horrible work. It was only after the bodies were ash that he called on them, for the Ranger said that the ash and bone should be buried, and buried deep.  
  
As they paused for a break, Fatty noticed how the Rangers color was gone and he was sweating.  
  
“Let me take you up to Bag End,” Fatty pressed, The Ranger hesitated, then nodded. The work was almost done. So, together they put the man into a small cart and Fatty brought Thorin down to pull the cart up the Hill.  
  
“I will not trouble you long,” the Ranger promised as they made their way up the lane.  
  
“Take your time,” Fatty said, “you saved my friend's lives. And we are grateful.”  
  
“Well, I anticipate leaving by tomorrow. The day after at the latest.”  
  
“You are feverish,” Fatty protested.  
  
“I will be well enough by then. I will ride south and pursue Frodo Baggins. My friend and counsel would understand more of what may be happening and I wish he was here now. But he is far away at present. It would be a matter of a month in the least to bring him to this section. And that only if I were very lucky. No, I cannot delay.”  
  
“Is Frodo,” Fatty paused, frowning, “is Frodo important somehow?” He smiled and brushed a hand through his hair, “to the wider world I mean. I suppose you already know that he is vastly important to his friends.”  
  
“That is plain,” the old Ranger said, “as for the other, never mind it. It is better for you not to know.”  
  
“Well I’m sure,” Fatty huffed, “Merry always did poke his nose into things he ought not. But that’s as may be. Despite the danger, we are Frodo’s friends and we mean to keep him looked after. It’s not a slip shod arrangement either. I don’t want you to misjudge us. Our band of four, we have a code. We will watch over Frodo. We will keep his business and his secrets closer than we keep our own. And we will defend him.” He paused, “and if he leaves. Or is made to leave, then the others plan to follow after.” The Ranger watched him.  
  
“And you, Fatty Bolger?”  
  
“I will remain,” Fatty said slowly, “someone must. To keep things dark and stop people making dangerous guesses. And to tell Merry and Pip and Sam’s parents. Tell them what exactly, I haven’t worked out just yet,” He sighed, adding, “the others, they have a spark of something in them. Something hard and strange, that doesn’t live in the hearts of most hobbits. I don’t think that I have that. I don’t feel as if I do, anyway. But I can see it in their eyes.”  
  
“I am an outsider and I know it isn’t my place to say this, but if I were to have anything to say on the subject it would be this: that there is nothing in their hearts which you do not also share in.”  
  
“Oh. Well,” Fatty said uncomfortably. The man relented.  
  
“Ah. I have been rude.”  
  
“No, I see that you are being kind. It’s quite alright,” Fatty said. “You are wrong though, incidentally,” he added lightly. To his relief the man laughed and he laughed as well. “The others are absolutely mad. I at least have my hobbit sense.”  
  
“You may have more madness in you than you think,” the Ranger said quietly. Fatty smiled slightly.  
  
“Perhaps,” he said amiably. Leaning on Fatty, the Ranger hobbled into Bag End and flopped down upon the rug in the parlor. Fatty stared.  
  
_He’s like a big muddy dog invited inside,_ he thought, then scolded himself. That had not been a charitable thought.    
  
“You can have a bed. Frodo had one large enough for a Big Person.”  
  
“No, this will do. Thank you.”  
  
Fatty had been perplexed but had left him to it. As he left, he met the Gamgees on their way up. They promised to look after the man, and to keep an eye on him while he was in Frodo’s home.  
  
Thorin tensed under him and snorted, bring Fatty sharply back to the present. He caught his breath, fully expecting a wolf to walk out into the road ahead.  
  
Instead a hobbit ambled out of the brush and peered up at him.  
  
“There you are, Mr. Bolger!” Gil Hanseed said with a satisfied smile. “I had word in Pincup you were on this road!”  
  
“Oh,” Fatty smiled, “have you been looking for me?”  
  
“That I have. Mr. Merry Brandybuck asked for me to be your guide. Bring you south to them.”  
  
“Oh good old Merry. You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that. I’ve felt very lost these last hours. I’m terribly unfamiliar with the South Farthing.”  
  
“Well, you just come with me sir. I’ll guide you true,” Hanseed said. Fatty sighed, relieved. Maybe things were looking up a little.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Sam leaned out, his heart in his throat as he stared down at the river below.  
  
“Oh Frodo,” he gasped. He kept his voice soft, but he could barely contain himself.  
  
“Do not rush in,” Halbarad hissed at him, eyeing Sam with a hard look. Sam squirmed.  
  
“We will draw them,” Aglaril said, gripping her sword.  
  
“And we three slip in,” Merry added.  
  
“Get Frodo,” Pippin breathed.  
  
“And bringing him back to safety,” Sam finished in a whisper. They paused only a moment more, then the Rangers darted off, moving down the incline, disappearing into the darkness. Sam gripped the rock in front of him.  
  
_We're here, m'dear,_ Sam thought and eased down into the shadows, moving through the brush, Merry and Pippin following close behind him. _We'll get you back. You've naught more to worry on._  
  
Sam could only hope that was true.  
  
They crept down to the river bank, keeping to the shadows, staying silent, making full use of their instinctual hobbity stealth. As they drew nearer, he could see more of Frodo, and Sam kept his eyes on him, unable to look at anything else. He could see Frodo’s face now, down turned, and impassive. They’d gagged him, so his mouth was hidden, and he couldn’t see much of his eyes. Yet Sam could see the sadness in Frodo’s body, and the tightness of his shoulders told him that Frodo was only barely keeping himself together. He felt such a piercing need to go to him, that he only barely kept himself from running out to the river.  
  
Frodo lifted his face and turned to the bank, and just that quick, their eyes met. Sam felt like he’d been struck. There was no joy in Frodo’s eyes, only terror.  
  
_What’s this?_ Sam thought, catching Frodo’s fear. _Why is he..._ and then all at once it hit him. If Frodo could see them, then the goblins, who’s eyes were made for cave dwelling, could have spotted them as well. And they would have done it before Frodo’s eyes could make them out. Sam’s gaze passed down the boat. There had been two goblins. Now he only saw one.  
  
Sam drew up hard and grabbed Merry and Pippin by their collars and yanked them back, pulling them into a stand of trees. He could hear arrows whistling and then sinking with a thunk into the soft mud, where they had been crouched.  
  
They huddled behind a large oak, drawing in shaking breaths and trading frightened looks, but no one spoke.  
  
There was a cry and Sam dared to peek beyond the trunk. The Rangers were shooting back. And they were very close to the boat. Sam quivered, watching the two goblins run to far end, drawing their swords. One of them cut the boat's moorings and Sam felt a stab of fear. They were leaving! The same goblin took up an oar and began poling the boat out into the middle of the river to catch the current. Sam couldn’t help himself, he let out a squawk of pain and darted out from their cover, running to keep up with the boat.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Pippin watched Sam rush out from behind their tree. He gasped and traded a glance with Merry, before they both took off running after Sam. Pippin turned his attention toward the boat. The goblins were not turned toward the bank any longer. One was busy moving the boat out to the middle of the river, the other had taken up a position at the back of the boat, shooting at the Rangers, who were pursing the vessel in a small raft that had been tied up at the dock.  
  
_The boat is moving fast,_ Pippin thought, watching the goblin work. He was strong and he had an oar that was long enough to touch the river bottom. By contrast, the little raft that the Rangers had was square shaped with low sides, made for paddling. They had one paddle, but it was short and small.  
  
_We are going to lose them,_ Pippin thought, pained. He bent and scooped up a handful of round river rocks. He took aim at the goblin with the oar, and threw his stone as hard as he could. It smacked into the goblin's arm and made him howl. Sam and Merry saw this, and then they too were collecting rocks and pelting them at the goblin. He shouted in fury and drew up the oar, turning away. They kept up the barrage, until the goblin turned back, a bow and a quiver of arrows in his hands. Pippin gasped and turned to flee back into the woods, Sam and Merry right behind him. But they needn't have hurried. No arrows came flying out of the darkness for them this time.  
  
Pippin waited a moment, trading glances with Merry and Sam. The sounds of fighting had grown louder. Merry growled and peered out to the river once more.  
  
“The Rangers are aboard!” he hissed and bolted out into the open again. Pippin ran along behind him. It was true, the Rangers had caught them up and they were both on board, swords drawn as they fought the goblins. The boat was still moving, drifting in the current, but it wasn't moving nearly as fast as it had been. Merry kept up his pace as he neared the water, then took a flying leap into the cold rushing torrent below the tall bank. Pippin yelped in alarm as he drew up short. Merry's head bobbed to the surface and then he was swimming out with powerful strokes.  
  
Pippin watched him, amazed. The River Shirebourn was notoriously fast and rocky. And it would be deathly cold this time of year. But Merry hadn't hesitated. Pippin turned at the sound of hobbit feet and saw Sam running towards him. He wasn't slowing down.  
  
“No!” Pippin cried a warning. His heart was in his throat and he raced to catch Sam. “Not you!” Pippin tackled him and locked his arms around Sam, who struggled to break his grip.  
  
“Turn me loose!” Sam cried, turning back.  
  
“No! Leave this to Merry! He’s half fish,” Pippin said, “and look, he’s already half there. You’ll do nothing but drown yourself.”  
  
“I don't care! I'm going!” Sam growled at him.  
  
“I care!” Pippin cried, clinging tighter, “and so will Frodo!” Sam's fury died. “Trust in Merry. He'll do it. If anyone can!” Sam clutched him and didn't answer, his eyes locked on Merry's form as he neared the boat.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Merry gasped, fighting to move his limbs as he plowed through the icy dark water. His heart was pounding even before he leapt into the river, but now it felt like a hammer driving through him. His body hurt- the water was too cold and his lungs didn’t want to draw in air, but he forced himself on.  
  
The river swung him downstream quickly and he had to fight to get himself up to the boat. He only managed it because he'd jumped in while he was further upstream. Now he reached out and grasped a trailing rope, the mooring that had held the boat to the dock before it was cut. He moved down the hull to the front of the boat, away from the snarls and clang of battle above. He would not survive an encounter with a goblin and though he shook to hear their hard voices, he swung himself up, fitting his small fingers and toes around the uneven rivets and nail heads sticking out from the hull. He had to be mindful about where he latched on, for he could barely feel his hands and feet. Nevertheless, he pulled himself up without too much difficulty; Merry was strong and most of all, propelled by fear and need. He hauled himself up and over the railing and rolled himself quickly behind a row of barrels. The goblins were down at the far end, and he didn't hear any new cries. Taking that to mean he hadn't been spotted, Merry crawled along the deck toward the short foremast. He took a breath and poked his head out from behind the barrels.  
  
Frodo was there, bound and facing him. Merry drew in a breath as Frodo's eyes went wide and he began to struggle. Merry put a finger to his lips and slunk down, moving to Frodo, drawing out his pocket knife. He was in full view if anyone turned toward the bow.  
  
He made quick work of the rope binding Frodo's wrists. Merry next reached for the gag, but as soon as Frodo's wrists were free, he pushed Merry back and drug him into the cover of the barrels.  
  
“Frodo,” Merry cried, and reached again to untie the gag. This time, Frodo let him. “Are you unhurt? Can you swim?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo gasped, his eyes holding  a combination of high emotion. There was amazement and fear, but most of all deep love and gratitude. Merry clasped his shoulder. “If the current is too much for you, hold to me. I'll get you back to shore,” he said gently. Frodo gripped his hand and they exchanged one last look before breaking cover, making a desperate scramble for the railing.  
  
There was a loud bellow from behind them, just as Merry feared, and he turned to see one of the goblins was bolting down the deck for them. Merry made to stand, but before he could, Frodo was up, grabbing for the oar that had been dropped, and brandished it. It was too long and heavy for him, but Frodo raised it and let out a cry of fury that froze Merry's blood. It had an effect on the goblin too, for he drew up short, held for a moment, wide-eyed and surprised at the ferocity of the hobbit before him. Before that surprise could fade, the goblin cried out in pain, as he was pelted once more with rocks. Merry turned and saw that Sam and Pippin were still running along the shore, letting loose volley after volley against the goblin. Merry reached out and grasped Frodo by the collar.  
  
“Come on! Now for it!” he said. But the goblin was reaching for him as well. He took hold of the oar and yanked Frodo off his feet, dragging him across the deck. Merry scrambled after him, desperate to pull Frodo away, but before he could, Merry heard a sickening crack, and Frodo let out a squawk of pain, his knees going weak and he crumpled to the deck. A stone had hit him, squarely in the side of his head.  
  
Merry felt his desperation deepen into something hard. He reached down and took Frodo into his arms, dragging him up over his shoulder and ran. He didn't bother to look to see if the goblin was following. He threw himself over the side of the boat. Together he and Frodo fell into the water, and the icy blackness closed over their heads.  
  
Merry would not have normally had the strength to swim one handed in such a fast river with the whole dead weight of a hobbit held on his back, nor for that matter would he normally have had the strength to lift Frodo and cast both of them over a railing. But there was such a fire in him to survive and to protect Frodo, that he found himself doing these things. He swam hard, his body burning with that fire, until he drew near the shore.  
  
His feet touched bottom and then Pippin was there, helping to pull him up and to support Frodo. And then Sam too. Merry felt the last of his strength leave him and he grasped Pippin. He looked over and saw that Frodo was standing and that his eyes were open, though he looked dazed and very weak.  
  
“Oh Merry,” Pippin said in his ear, “well done.” Merry felt tears in his eyes, his heart still pounding. He knew they weren't safe yet, but his strength was gone, so that he could only hold to Pippin and shake.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

As Sam drew near he could see that Frodo looked as if he were in a fog and he was breathing hard, but when Sam took him into his arms, his eyes focused a little more. Then, tears were falling down his cheeks.  
  
“I sang out for you,” Frodo cried softly, “and you came!” Sam took a breath, feeling his own tears, and wrapped Frodo in his arms, tucking his face down as he let out a choked sob. Pippin touched his shoulder.  
  
“Come on,” he urged softly, “let's get him into the woods!” Sam jerked up, and pulled Frodo along. They traveled only a short distance in the woods. Merry and Frodo were shaking with the cold and too weak to run or even walk very much further. Sam spotted a low outbuilding in a clearing and steered them towards it. It looked like a pump house, if he was any judge. They tried the door and found it locked. Pippin lowered Merry to the ground, then went to the door and kicked it open, breaking the little lock pin, which fell with a clatter. Then, they all piled in and Pippin closed the door tight behind them. Sam drew Frodo to a bench along the back wall and sat him down.

“Are you alright?” Sam sniffed, turning Frodo’s face up to peer into his eyes. Frodo still looked weak, and he let his eyes slip shut as Sam’s hand came up to stroke his cheek.  
  
“I’m alright,” Frodo sighed and kissed Sam’s hand. Sam drew in a breath, then he leaned in and kissed him. He meant for it to be a gentle touch of reassurance, but Frodo’s grip tightened and he kissed back with a force that took Sam’s breath. They drew back and looked at one another. Frodo was shivering and his curls hung down, dripping, but there was such joy in his face.  
  
“M’dear, my Frodo,” Sam breathed, drawing one of his icy hands up to kiss and warm it.  
  
“My darling Sam,” Frodo murmured, his eye lids fluttering. They curled tight against one another again. Sam pressed his cheek to Frodo's neck, unwilling to feel anything else for the moment. Frodo was soaking wet, but Sam couldn't get enough of the feeling of his body pressed against his own.  
  
Slowly, the outside world penetrated the haze of relief. Merry and Pippin's voices, hushed and fearful came to him, and he opened his eyes. They were positioned at the front of the well house, peering out the cloudy windows. Merry, through propped against the wall, had a shovel in his hands and Pippin a small pick ax.  
  
_They're guarding us,_ Sam thought.  
  
“Do you suppose they saw where we went?” Pippin whispered.  
  
“Those goblins were completely taken up by the Rangers,” Merry whispered back, “If they saw anything of us, it was only that we went into the woods.”  
  
“If they chase after, it won't taken them long to find this place.”  
  
“You're assuming the Rangers fail.”  
  
“Well,” Pippin swallowed.  
  
“Hey, Frodo,” Merry turned to find Frodo still pressed tight to Sam. His expression softened, “Frodo?” he asked tentatively. Frodo drew his face up and turned to Merry. “Where is that Man?”  
  
“He went to a cave,” Frodo said woozily.  
  
“A cave?” Pippin asked, going to sit beside him. Frodo squinted, wobbling as he did. Sam put a steadying hand on his back.  
  
“Wine cave?” Frodo murmured.  
  
“Ah, poor Frodo,” Pippin winced.  
  
“You look as if you're dizzy,” Merry said.  
  
“I am,” Frodo said, smiling a little. Merry went to him, while Pippin dug into his pockets and found a ball of dried meat he'd wrapped up. He passed it along with it's wrappings to Frodo and Frodo took it, taking a bite. Sam eyed it, but didn't comment.  
  
“How's the knot?” Merry asked and peered at his head. Sam reached up and carefully parted his hair as Frodo chewed.  
  
“Bleeding?” Frodo asked.  
  
“No,” Merry said, examining him. He reached out and very gently, traced the knot that was swelling up from Frodo's scalp.  
  
“That was my rock,” Pippin said softly, and gulped, not able to say more. They turned to him. There was such pain his his face.  
  
“Pip,” Frodo murmured and reached for him.  
  
“I can’t bear it. I almost killed you,” Pippin said, weakly. Frodo wrapped his arms around Pippin’s shaking shoulders.  
  
“Nonsense. I’d never let it,” he soothed, then added in a lighter tone, “you cracked me rather well for a Took. I’m impressed! You better watch out though, Bagginses are plotters. And I’ll find some way to get back a bit of my own!”  
  
“Oh no!” Pippin giggled through his tears, “Mad Baggins!” Frodo kissed his forehead.  
  
“Mad Baggins,” he agreed. Merry smiled and stood once more.  
  
“I’m going to get our packs,” he said, “we’ve blankets and water and food, and I’m frozen.” Pippin pushed out of Frodo’s arms, standing up.  
  
“No, I’ll go. You’re right, you’re frozen. And I’m good at sneaking,” Pippin assured and was out the door before anyone could say any more.  
  
“Oh. I suppose he’s right,” Merry sighed.  
  
“Packs?” Frodo asked.  
  
“We brought a few things down with us. Clothing and blankets and a bit of food. We left them up on the bank, before we came down to the river bank,” Merry said.  
  
"I want to hear everything," Frodo sighed, rubbing his arms, “and it will be very good to get warm and change into something dry, if you’ve any clothing to spare?”  
  
“Of course we have,” Merry said.  
  
“Good,” Frodo said softly, then raised his eyes to gaze at Sam, “Sorry. I got you wet.” He pressed his hand down the front of Sam’s chest, touching the wet cloth. Sam didn’t answer, just drew him close again. 

<>O<>O<>O<>    

Pippin returned shortly with the three packs strapped to him. In short order, Merry and Frodo dried themselves and changed out of their wet clothing. Pippin and Sam too, dried themselves, though they were not so wet that they needed to change. Finally, Frodo sat back, feeling a glow of warmth as he gazed at his cousins and at Sam, astounded and shaken by the depth of love and gratitude he felt for them.   
  
"I wonder," Pippin said, turning to the front of the well house, "should we go back? Try and help the Rangers? I don't feel right being safe and sound here, while they take care of everything."  
  
"And how would you help them?" Merry sighed, "I know. I feel the same. But we can't fight. We'll be in the way. They told us to find some safe little hole and tuck ourselves away. They'll find us. You know they're wonderful trackers."  
  
"I know. But all the same," Pippin murmured. Frodo sat up, frowning, jolted out of his daze.  
  
“Have you seen Lotho?” he asked.  
  
“Lotho? Is he still in all this? We haven't seen him.” Merry asked scowling.  
  
“He's here alright,” Frodo sighed, “Volund told the goblins they were going down into the wine cave. What a nuisance he is!” Frodo said through his teeth.  
  
“He's their friends, isn't he? We don't need to bother about him,” Pippin sniffed. Frodo closed his eyes and groaned.  
  
“He’s not in a good situation,” he said slowly.  
  
“Well that’s his problem isn’t it!” Merry said through his teeth, “he took you from us.”  
  
“If that Man is near at hand maybe we better get away a bit, or at least hide better,” Sam said, glancing toward the door. “We’re awful close." Merry and Pippin continued the debate, but their words well away to Frodo. He closed his eyes.   
  
He had his ring. He'd made sure of that as soon as he was out of the river. And he'd tucked the wet envelope into his dry pants as he'd changed. It was there in his pocket, even now, a solid hardness, burning along the edges of his mind.  
  
Yes. He had his ring. He could at least try to help Lotho.  
  
But it would still be a terrible risk to go down there, even if he was invisible. The man was a conjurer and Frodo wasn’t sure what he was capable of, except that he would kill if provoked. Frodo shivered.  
  
Lotho was a kinsmen and a fellow hobbit and he had a mother who loved him, and a life that was precious, at least to himself. But he was in dire peril, which would also fall on any who tried to rescue him. And Lotho Sackville-Baggins wasn’t worth dying for.  
  
_Lotho will be fine,_ he told himself, _Or, at least, it isn’t certain that he won’t be fine._ Frodo winced. _Lotho is a coward! He won’t defy that man! ... But,_ he paused, _even if he doesn’t, do I really see this ending well for him?_  
  
All the horror and pain and anger he’d felt because of his cousin weighed heavily on him. _There is cruelty in him! He was going to let Sam die! I can't abide aiding him! Besides, Lotho got himself into this mess. And there's no guarantee that he would even want help._    
  
No, Lotho didn’t deserve a rescue and trying to give him one might prove to be very foolish.  
  
And yet another voice deep inside him spoke and Frodo stilled, listening to it.   
  
_Whether he wants it or not, whether he deserves it or not, he needs it. He’s made a bad mistake and he’ll only find ruin, surrounding himself with evil men and goblins. Maybe that ruin will find him tonight or maybe it won’t, but it is out there, waiting for him if he stays this course. And he may be in it too deep now to get himself out, even if he has learned from his mistake._  
  
_I’ve made mistakes, big ones even. But I’ve always had people who cared for me, drawing me out or helping me to fix my messes. Maybe I deserved that help, but in some cases, I don’t think I did. Maybe it’s not about deserving help._  
  
Frodo held himself still, caught between two choices, each calling to him.  
  
“Well, there’s nothing we can do,” Merry said, “except tell the Rangers. We haven’t any hope against such a Man.”  
  
“We haven’t any hope if we plan to fight him,” Frodo said slowly, “but perhaps we needn’t.” They all turned to look at him. Frodo lifted his eyes. He paused, pained, then pushed on, “I will go down there and see if he’s alright. And get him out if I can.” They all stared at him. “I can go down without being seen,” he added, but they still looked horrified.  
  
“No!” Sam cried.  
  
“What?” Merry hissed.  
  
“How would you do it?”  
  
“Bilbo taught me some of his more advanced burgling skills,” Frodo explained.  
  
“Burgling skills my foot! Even Bilbo couldn't pull that off!” Pippin cried.  
  
“You're not in any condition,” Sam protested. Frodo met his eyes, but kept quiet. Merry peered at Frodo.  
  
“Are you sure? Do you really think you can do it?” he asked breathless. Frodo turned to him and nodded.  
  
“What kind of question is that?” Pippin cried, “it’s impossible!”  
  
“Not if Frodo says it’s possible,” Merry said, giving Pippin a look. Pippin fell silent and Merry turned back to Frodo, “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. Frodo gazed at him.  
  
“I must,” he said quietly. Sam drew in a shaky breath and hid his face. Frodo turned to him and moved to embrace him and sent a look at Merry. Merry took Pippin by the shoulder and drew him along with him as they walked away, moving into the back pump room and out of view.  
  
Frodo kissed Sam’s forehead and stroked his curls, silent, allowing Sam space to cry out his grief and fear. After a moment, Sam turned his face up and met his eyes, tears still leaking down his cheeks.  
  
“There now,” Frodo said gently and put his palms to Sam's cheeks, “it will be alright. And I must try. You understand, don't you?” Sam sniffed.  
  
“He don't deserve such! You risking yourself for that fool.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said, “he is an wretched little fool. But I can't just leave him to die.”  
  
“If you must try then I'll come with you,” Sam pledged. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“You aren't a burglar,” he said. Sam took a breath, but didn't deny it.  
  
“And you are? And how can you ever manage it? It's too much!” Sam cried. Frodo wiped his tears, stroking his cheeks.  
  
“You understand don’t you, that there are some things I must do without help?” he asked. Sam looked miserable.  
  
“No,” he sniffed. Frodo moved closer and kissed his head again.  
  
“I must go face my dragon,” he breathed.  
  
“Please,” Sam breathed, hiding his face against Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo held him close.  
  
“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered into Sam’s ear.  
  
“Don’t go promising,” Sam shook, “You can’t know such.”  
  
“That may be true, but it’s also true that I'm a Baggins,” Frodo told him, “a luck wearer. And I can do this.” He dropped his voice and leaned in, “I'm so sorry for leaving you, just when we've come back together.” He could almost feel the strain of restraint that Sam was using to keep himself from saying, _then don’t go_. But his restraint held. Sam didn’t say it.  
  
“I want to go too,” Sam murmured, “please, I can’t bear it.”  
  
“This isn’t something you can help me with. I can only hide myself. I can’t hide you too.”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Sam whispered.  
  
“Oh, my darling,” Frodo kissed his hand, “please. Trust in me?” Sam looked up at him. He wasn't able to answer, only nodded through his tears. “That’s it,” Frodo said tenderly. Sam lifted his face and leaned in, kissing him. Frodo clung to him. One more act of love and support from his Sam.

Frodo gathered himself and said goodbye, choosing not to linger on this. He’d be back in a short time, he told himself. Merry had silently passed him his pocket knife, meeting Frodo’s eyes. Frodo took it with a nod and then he turned away from them, going out into the woods and closing the well house door behind him. He walked quickly through the woods until he came to the collection of out building that marked the wineworks. He could see the cave entrance carved into the side of the bank.  
  
Frodo ducked down behind a crumbling brick wall and stared toward the cavern in front of him. Even it’s cheery lamps and colorful planters lining the entrance could not remove the deep foreboding that he felt as he gazed on it.  
  
He didn’t have to do this. Everything that Sam said was true. Lotho was vile and wretched and stupid and if he died the Shire might be a better place for it. He wasn’t worth risking the devastation that would fall upon his loved ones should he fail and die at the hands of this Man. Frodo closed his eyes. His body physically ached to turn and go put himself back into Sam's arms. They would not blame him. There was death down there. And even if he escaped it, he could be retaken, bundled away South to some dark fate. And Lotho might betray him. After all, he needed Frodo to die or disappear for the will to go into effect. And if he could show the judge a body, he’d have the Bag End by the end of the week, rather than having to wait a year.  
  
There was so much that made this the wrong choice and even now, he could turn back.  
  
But that didn’t feel right. It was too cruel. Too hard.  
  
“Lotho said that hobbits must become harder for this new world. Well, it’s not going to begin with me!” Frodo whispered to himself. He took a breath and reached into his pocket. He drew out the envelope and found the ring inside. He gazed down at it a moment, then with determination in his heart, Frodo put on the ring.  
  
He let out a slow breath. He didn’t feel any different. He looked down and was relieved to see himself. And yet he knew he was hidden. Frodo sighed and stepped slowly toward the cavern entrance.  
  
_Right!_ he thought and moved silently down into the dark tunnel.  
  
Bilbo had told him once that the bravest moment in his life was not facing Smaug, nor playing riddles with Gollum, nor fighting the spiders or rescuing the dwarves from prison. It had been when he’d made himself go down the tunnel leading to the dragon and his horde. Frodo had never understood it; that the act of walking toward doom was worse than confronting it.   
  
He understood it now.

<>O<>O<>O<>    

If Frodo had paused before he entered the cave, to look up to the outcrop and bracken above, and if his eyes had been better suited for the dark, then he might have caught a glimpse of light reflected back from the eyes of the Warg chief. As it was, he didn’t and never knew that he had been observed.  
  
The Warg listened, tracing the moments of the hobbit below him, though even his keen eyes could not catch the barest hint of the hobbit's form. When the hobbit had moved into the cave, the Warg chief eased away from the drop off, moving into the dark woods. He walked slowly at first, intent on remaining silent and undetected. Then, when he was sure he had not been seen by anything bothersome, he quickened his pace, racing through the little woodland and over its hills and creeks. The Warg was headed east, his path laid out before him; he would go through the rolling hills and pine forests, then cross the sharp cold mountains, and the plains beyond until at last he came to a range of dark mountains and to a fortress with a cursed name, Minas Morgul, in the land of Mordor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted this fic to include a good solid reason why the Ringwraiths come charging into the Shire in Fellowship and seem to know exactly who has the Ring and where they live. In the movie it's all tidy. Gollum got captured and tells them who has it and where to look. In the book it's a little more vague? I don’t think Gollum told them much and the Mordor folks set him free hoping he would lead them to the Ring maybe? That didn’t quite work out so how did they find out? 
> 
> We know that fairly recently the Mordor folks only know that there was a hobbit who traveled with dwarves around sixty years ago who had the Ring but they don't know where he's at and may not know his name-cause they go to the dwarves and are all, tell us where the hobbit is- no mention of Baggins.
> 
> Gandalf says there are spies around the Shire- I guess we're supposed to assume that some of the Mordor spies eventually hear about Bilbo’s vanishing act (or maybe some other shit that Bilbo did in the Shire- cause it seems like Bilbo did some shit) and it gets back to the Nazgul and that's how they know where to look. And it does seem to be Bilbo that they are looking for- not Frodo. But, those stories about Bilbo have been floating around for, like, a while. I wanted a little more clear trigger that would prompt the sort of overkill move of sending the Nazgul themselves right to the Hill, asking for Baggins at that time.
> 
> So- the trigger is the Warg watching Frodo pull the Ring out of his pocket and put it on and vanish. So the Warg runs off to Mordor- which I'll argue takes a long while- maybe he has the wait until winter is over the cross the mountains, also there's war parties of Elves and Men and the wolf is alone and on foot the whole way. He finally arrives at Minas Morgul and the Warg tells the Nazgul what he saw- which is proof positive of the Ring’s presence and who has it and where it is. 
> 
> Also. Disclaimer: Pippin’s pocket meat is horrible, but he seems like the kind of hobbit who would carry loose balls of meat with him when he goes walking.


	25. A Shadow in the Lantern Light

_Let him go, even if it means the death of him._  
  
Hamfast Gamgee sat on his front stoop, smoking, just as he had all those years ago, on the night of Bilbo's last party. The star studded sky was clear now, the only smoke came from his chimney and his neighbors chimneys, and the night was quiet. The old hobbit caught his breath and chewed his pipe. Frodo's birthday was in a few days. Somehow that made what he was feeling ring louder.  
  
He missed his son.  
  
_I want him home. I want to hear his happy voice calling out to his sisters, or singing as he cooks, or even arguing with Daisy._  
  
And he missed Frodo, too.  
  
_I wish I'd look up there and see a candle burning, or catch him and his friends wandering back along the path, late and dizzy with ale, and watch him try to pretend for my sake that he's sober._ Hamfast felt his smiled drop away and he drew on his pipe. The night was no longer Frodo's friend. Now it held such danger for the poor boy.  
  
_I can’t abide it either-ways,_ Hamfast thought. He hated the idea of Sam walking out into deathly danger following after Frodo. But just as painful was the thought of Frodo alone and facing peril without Sam at his side.  
  
_And Sam would pine for him so. No. It’s cruel hard either way_ , he thought. _Frodo is such a good lad. He’s never done aught to bring this trouble on his head. I hate that so much has come on him. No. If peril must fall then I want them together. That’s the best chance they have._  
  
He’d long ago seen that they took up for one another, protected one another. They were both so single minded when it came to it that Ham, and Bilbo as well, had long ago learned to let it alone.  
  
The old gardener smiled to himself. The only time he’d ever caught Sam lying to Bilbo, was when Bilbo- angry at something Frodo had done- demanded that Sam tell him where Frodo had gone off to hide. Sam had stoutly looked up at Bilbo and told him he didn’t know. Bilbo had stared at him a long while then gone off, muttering. Not long after, Ham had watched Sam climb up into the top of the potting shed and share a whispered conservation with a hidden hobbit in the rafters.  
  
“I told Mr. Bilbo a fib,” Sam had sniffed.  
  
“Oh dear. You’ll just have to go into exile with me,” came the response. Ham had not approved of Sam’s dishonesty- though really, Bilbo should have known better than to ask Sam to give Frodo away- but he’d found himself leaving the matter alone, pretending he hadn’t heard what he did. They were tweens and he hadn’t the heart to scold Sam over it. He'd turned back to Bag End, only to see Bilbo peering out a window, looking toward the potting shed, his lips pursed. He felt Ham's eyes and glanced at him. They'd shared a look for a moment, then Bilbo sighed and pulled his head back inside the window, closing it and disappearing. It seemed that Bilbo had made the same determination.  
  
And later Ham had watched as young Frodo struggled to be Master of the Hill, and how Sam had very gently begun to do small things to support him; keeping up with Frodo’s appointments and waking him early, or even just a quiet kind word when Frodo came back from a hard meeting.  
  
Ham had understood this. These were just the sorts of considerate gestures that he'd tried to encourage his children to make. And Sam had always been unusually sensitive and attentive to the needs of others. And until these last weeks, he had not seen anything more than consideration and care between Frodo and Sam.  
  
But that had changed the night the dead creatures visited Number Three. When Sam had cried out for him, Ham had run into the room and seen the horrible face at the window, and though that had held his attention at the time, he kept coming back to the look in his son's eyes as he crouched on the bed, putting himself between the creature and Frodo, with nothing more than a broom to defend them both. Sam had been so determined.  
  
_Oh, there’s more between them,_ Ham had realized, _it’s not just wanting to keep a friend from trouble and it's not just the attentive kindness in him._ It was like stepping into what you thought was a puddle and falling down into deep water instead. There was depth to this. Terrifying depth.  
  
Somehow, without Ham taking notice, that simple care that he'd long seen in them had deepened and grown into something hard and strong. It had puzzled Ham deeply, to find this. More so, because he knew that he understood growing things on an instinctual level, and yet he had not spotted seed nor sprout of this thing in two hobbits that he knew so well. But there it was. Plain for all to see now.  
  
No more so plain than the morning after Sam returned from the woods and the abandoned hole. Ham had paused, about to go out into the lane to keep watch on the road, but as he turned back he was struck quiet. Frodo and Sam were standing together, sharing a look between them. The way they looked at one another, it was like the rest of the world had gone by the wayside.  
  
“Tea?” Frodo asked softly.  
  
“No thank you,” Sam said back, just as quiet, and still they looked at one another. And now they were gone. Just like Gandalf had said all those years ago.  
  
_When the time comes, don't stop your Sam from following after Frodo. And do not question his leaving._ Hamfast hadn’t. He would never have had the heart to. Just this morning, Sam had stood in the dawn light, tears in his eyes, and Ham saw that same determination.  
  
“I'm going to bring him home, Dad,” Sam said softly. Hamfast rested his hand on his son's back and felt his heart break. He didn't want to let him go, despite Gandalf's warnings. But this wasn't his choice and Sam understood the risks. So Hamfast had rubbed Sam's shoulder and had not done or said anything to distress his son.  
  
“Aye. I know you will,” he said and put his full confidence in his voice.  
  
_And see if he don't. Samwise has always been stubborn,_ he thought with a smile, _and whatever peril he's out there a facing, well, Mr. Frodo is out there too. They'll see to one another. Cause those two are a team made stronger by the bond between them; stronger than either could ever be on his own._  
  
“Let them come back,” Hamfast whispered into the cold air, looking up to the stars, “Let that bond be enough. And let them both come back.”

<>O<>O<>O<>

Frodo stepped lightly down the winding tunnel, taking care not to make a sound as his feet padded along the cold stone floor. It was dark, but down at the far end there were lanterns, casting a glow up the tunnel. He drew in slow steady breaths as he moved. The air was cold, colder even than the fresh night air he’d left. Faintly, voices came floating to him, growing more distinct as he neared the end of the passage.  
  
“If Frodo is being stubborn about it, I’m sorry to say there isn’t much to be done,” Lotho was saying, “you’d better just take him south. It seems like there is some danger for you here.”  
  
“You just want us to leave,” Volund growled.  
  
“I’m being practical.”  
  
“Perhaps I should be practical too. I don’t think I should leave you behind, Mr. Lotho. Not if there are Rangers abroad.”  
  
“But you don't need me!”  
  
“No. But you are a liability at this point. I can't have you talking to Rangers and telling them what you know.”  
  
“I'm not... I won't,” Lotho's voice trembled.  
  
_He's beginning to see just how much danger he is in,_ Frodo thought, _if he didn't know before now._ “Please,” Lotho said softly, “I have a mother. She'll be sick with worry if I don't find her by tomorrow. She must already be worried.” Volund didn't answer. Instead he raised his head, frowning.  
  
“Why would he tell me to bring this trunk?” he said slowly.  
  
“What? Frodo? He thought you wanted that firework,” Lotho supplied, unhelpfully. The Man ignored him.  
  
“What if he...” Volund straightened, then snapped his jaw closed. He turned and caught Lotho by the shoulder, pushing him to the nearest iron shelf.  
  
“Ah! What are-” Lotho sputtered as Volund brought out rope and began to bind him to the ironwork. “I say!” Lotho said weakly.  
  
“I can’t risk you running off and I must check on the boat.”  
  
“What? The boat? Why?” Lotho demanded.  
  
“There is mischief in that hobbit!” Volund growled, tightening the rope. Lotho quivered.  
  
“Please, let me go.”  
  
The Man didn't answer, going quickly past the aisle of wine casks and then up the tunnel toward the entrance. Frodo tucked himself in the shadows and listened as the Man moved away. He drew in a breath. Here was the sticking point. The moment he spoke he would reveal himself and draw danger down on his head. He went silently down to Lotho, coming up from behind because he still felt visible and quite vulnerable. He bent and looked at the knots. They were very complicated.  
  
“Lotho,” he whispered. Lotho gasped and jerked up in alarm. “Easy!” Frodo hissed at him.  
  
“Frodo?” Lotho whispered back.  
  
“Stay silent and still and I will do what I can to save you,” Frodo whispered, “that is, if you want saving?”  
  
“Yes! Get me out of here, please?” Lotho pleaded. Without another word, Frodo took hold of the rope and pulled out Merry’s knife, sawing into the tough hemp. He had them cut in a matter of a minute, but then the sound he'd dreaded came to him- Volund was moving back down the tunnel toward them.  
  
“I’ve cut your bonds,” Frodo whispered quickly, “when I draw him away, you must run.” Lotho trembled and didn’t answer. Frodo stepped away, moving into the aisle, his eyes moving down the long rows of casks. He could get to the back maybe and cause a noise. That might work.

He glanced back. Lotho was sitting there, frozen in terror, his arms resting lax behind him, making it all too apparent that he was not bound anymore. Frodo drew in a breath and stepped back towards him, about to hiss directions to him, when Volund moved back into the aisle and walked quickly down to Lotho.  
  
“Have you a boat?” Volund demanded.  
  
“I... No,” Lotho trembled, “what happened?”  
  
“The boat is gone. I need to know if you have a boat,” the Man growled. Frodo could hear the smoldering fury in his voice. He shivered.  
  
“My buyers are the ones with boats. I only provide the labor to load the vessels. I don’t have more to do with boats than I can help.”  
  
“You have nothing? Nothing river worthy? It needn’t be large, just something that can float and fit men.”  
  
“Men?” Lotho stammered, “Ah. Well, there's nothing. Except -oh. There are two rowboats. My servants use them, to cross the river, but they are small, I dare say men would find them quite-“  
Frodo almost groaned aloud. Lotho was a rambler. And the last thing he needed to do was focus attention on himself. Frodo moved deeper into the cave. He needed to provide a distraction that wouldn’t get him caught.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“One is at the dock. You must have seen it. The other is in the boat house.” Frodo glanced back only to see the man frown step close to Lotho. He reached down and wrenched Lotho’s arms up, the cut rope slipping down to the floor. Frodo gritted his teeth and held himself still, cursing Lotho silently. Volund stared at him.  
  
“How curious,” Volund said slowly, “how have you managed to cut that rope? Hm?”  
  
“I. Ah,” Lotho sputtered, “I don’t know.”  
  
“No?” Volund asked softly, his eyes searching the shadows.  
  
Volund’s eyes held to a spot on the floor. Frodo frowned, then turned his own gaze downward. Before him, etched in the lantern light, he saw his shadow stretching out before him. He had only a moment of gut wrenching horror before he saw Volund raise his hand. Frodo leapt, rolling behind a shelf of ale. Though his heart was pounding, he felt alright. Turning back though, he could see that Lotho had not been as lucky. He was sunk to the floor, drunkenly trying to rise, only to slide back to the cobblestones. Volund grunted, and Frodo drew himself up, reading himself for a sprint, but the Man did not follow. Instead he moved to the entrance, blocking it with his huge form.  
  
_He can't chase me if he's only concerned with keeping me here_ , Frodo thought. _Though, that doesn't help me much._  
  
“What are you doing Captain?” came a soft growl in the darkness. Frodo slunk down in the shadows. It was one of the goblins.  
  
“Lugruk! Where is the boat? What has happened?”  
  
“Rangers attacked, and some miserable little hobbits as well. They stole the prisoner!”  
  
“Never mind it. Where is the boat and where is Golag? And what of the Rangers?”  
  
“The boat is downstream, broken on some rocks. We were fighting the Rangers and there was no one to steer.”  
  
“Downstream?” Volund demanded, raising his voice, “Did you try to leave me behind?”  
  
“No!” Lugruk groveled, “the Rangers cut our moorings.”  
  
“And where are the Rangers?” Volund growled.  
  
“One- the woman- fell into the river when the boat crashed and was taken down,” Lugruk snorted, “the man is badly wounded. Golag is finishing him.”  
  
“But he isn't dead?” Volund pressed, “I want them dead. We must leave this place and as soon as may be. Rangers are dangerous and if there are two then there are more on the way. They are like vermin.”  
  
“But the hobbit has gone,” Lugruk snapped, “I was just about to go up and track him. He and his little friends cannot have gone far. Golag can handle the Ranger.”  
  
“Don't you worry about the hobbit,” Volund laughed, “he's taken care of.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I mean that he is here,” Volund said with a smile in his voice. “Though he has been very clever and has hidden himself.” There was a pause.  
  
“Hidden?”  
  
“He is in the shadows somewhere. He came down here.”  
  
“He wants that firework,” Lugruk cackled. “Hidden you say? He won’t hide from Lugruk.”  
  
“You better rely on your nose and not your eyes,” Volund said slowly, “you’ll not see him.” The goblin swung around to stare at the man.  
  
“No?”  
  
“No. There’s magic at work and the halfling is hidden from all eyes now. But you can still find him. Look for his shadow!”  
  
“Wonders beyond wonders,” Lugruk growled, his eyes moving back to the dark of the cellar. “How very interesting.”  
  
“Don't take too much interest in it, if you know what's good for you. Just help me catch him.”  
  
“Yes Captain,” The goblin said, moving into the aisles, taking a lantern with him. Frodo moved silently, keeping distance between himself and the goblin as Lugruk stalked down the aisles, sniffing the air. Frodo didn't like that sniffing and he didn't like the keenness of the goblins' ears, moving slightly to catch the barest sound of feet on stone. Bilbo had almost been caught by goblins when he was invisible.  
  
“Are you sure he’s a halfling?” Lugruk hissed back at Volund, “I never knew of one who could do such tricks. Here, Captain! Just what is he? And is he dangerous?”  
  
“No he is not! He is only a halfling!” Volund called.  
  
“Only a halfling,” Lugruk muttered under his breath. Frodo peered at him. The goblin was unsettled.  
  
“Are you so sure you know what I am?” Frodo called out.  
  
“Ah!” Lugruk screeched in alarm. Frodo felt a thrill. No one had ever been afraid of him before. He slid behind a tall tower of glass wine bottles. If he was careful he might carry this off. But it was a terrible gamble.  
  
_It may be a gamble, but even if I stay silent, he'll catch me. He'll smell me or hear me and then I'll be caught. This way, perhaps I can frighten him badly enough to fluster him and impair anything that he might try._  
  
“If you are not a halfling then what are you?” Lugruk demanded, “we'll find out soon enough once we have you in the tower!” _  
  
Tower?_ Frodo thought, curiosity getting the better of him. This was working out splendidly. Perhaps he could buy time and get more information. Lotho was not recovered yet and he could not drag him. Nor could he get past Volund, as he was still blocking the exit.  
  
_Time! I need time!_  
  
“You might think so, but I am not so sure,” Frodo said in a soft sing-song, as he darted into a shaded nook, slinking along. A half plan was forming in his mind. He was going to take a page from Bilbo’s there and back again tale. “I am he who the river robbed, and robber of the field,” Frodo said throwing his voice so that it echoed against the stone walls, creating an eerie effect.  
  
“What?” Lugruk yelped, “it’s talking nonsense now!” There was an edge of fear in his voice.  
  
_Oh, I am really frightening him!_  Frodo thought.  
  
“I am night-walker, tale-maker, friend to kin twice related. I was brought west for a shared birthday.”  
  
“The halfling is playing games. But I think he’s going to lose,” Volund remarked.  
  
“I am he who came to fill a hope, but also to dash hope. My home is made by a gardener, but I do not live in a garden.”  
  
The goblin was following him close now. Frodo slid down a row and ducked under a work table, trying with all his might to stay out of the lamp light, but the goblin was lighting more as he went. Light fell around the table and Frodo froze.  
  
“Whatever else you are, Mr. Baggins, you are trouble.”  
  
Frodo frowned. That had been Volund's voice, and it had been close. Too close. Frodo twisted around in time to see the man's legs approaching and then a force of dizziness and sickness hit him. Frodo’s knees buckled under him and he fell to the floor with a soft slap against the stones.  
  
“Quite a lot of trouble. Even our brief acquaintance has shown me that. And I begin to see that you are more trouble than you are worth.”  
  
A crawling darkness moved across his vision, and weakness gripped his limbs so that he could not move. It felt as if he had been plunged down into a cold spot in a river and the current was drawing him into a whirlpool, spinning him faster and sucking him down. Pain laced up his body and he cried out. Had he been kicked or had he been struck against cold hard rock? The two sensations blended into a swirling agony as his body was pulled.   
  
“Here he is! The clever little thing,” Volund said softly.   
  
“Put me down. I am heir to he who walks unseen,” Frodo said between his teeth with some difficulty, “he was underestimated too. By friend and foe. All of them were proved wrong in the end. I'll leave that as a last warning.” His head was swimming and despite his words he was nearly lost to it. He could feel the cold press of the unconsciousness tight around him. The man laughed.  
  
“That's the best you can do? Hobbits really are very stupid creatures,” Volund said, “I see now why my Master became so suspicious of anyone important paying your people any attention. You little things cannot be trusted with anything important.”  
  
“Leave. Leave then,” Frodo gasped against the dizzying visions that rolled before his eyes.  
  
“Oh I am more than happy to, and I can, thanks to you.” More pain, and then hands were moving across his chest, and down his arms. Frodo jolted, feeling a rush of panic.  
  
_He’s going to take the ring from me!_ His entire mind roiled at this thought and Frodo writhed and kicked and bit, even as he tucked his hands against his chest, balling them into fists.  
  
“Give it up!” The man shouted, and a cracking blow fell down on his back. Frodo cried out in pain. Dimly, he was aware that that blow had probably been meant for his head and had only missed because the Man was uncertain as to where his head was. He had little doubt though, that if he were struck like that, he would lose what little consciousness he was clinging to.  
  
_I cannot,_ he thought, _I cannot let him have it!_ But almost at once this thought was pushed aside. _I cannot let him kill me. I promised Sam._  
  
Frodo gave a mighty kick and Volund cried out in pain. It was a short lived victory. And iron grip seized his shoulders and Frodo was forced down hard against the rocks, pinned under the weight of the Man, holding him.  
  
“Well, Mr. Baggins, you are not so clever as you like to think,” Volund laughed as he reached down, grasping Frodo by feel and gripping him by his hair, “Yes I think it is better all around this way. You are too slippery.” There was a soft cackle, and Frodo opened his eyes to see the goblin, leering overhead.  
  
“Gut him, Captain. That will teach the little squawker.”  
  
Volund turned to peer at the goblin, a smile on his face though his eyes held suspicion.  
  
“Go up and help Golag. Then get Mr. Lotho's boat. He says there is one in his boat house.”  
  
“Now?” Lugruk protested.  
  
“Now. I'll be up in a moment.”  
  
The goblin slunk away, obviously dismayed that he hadn't been allowed to watch. Frodo’s head was going foggy. The man was so heavy and he couldn't breathe. He tried to twist away, but it came out as a weak flail.  
  
“No more cleverness?” Volund asked softly. The room seemed to dim before Frodo's eyes, even as he watched the Man draw out his sharp curved blade. It was the same blade he’d used to cut Hob’s throat.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Sam was in agony. He’d never felt anything like the hot raw pain pressing in on him from all sides. Every instant and every sound was a torment.  
  
_I can’t bear this,_ Sam thought, gasping against the pain. It felt like he was dying.  
  
_If ever he comes back to me, I’m sticking with him through all peril. No more of this, 'trust in me, Sam', business. No. Parting from him and allowing him to walk into danger, even if that danger holds certain death, isn’t something I can do. It will kill me, just as sure._  
  
“Let’s go out there,” Sam said softly, “to the cave entrance. I need to be closer.” Merry and Pippin turned to look at him, then Pippin turned to Merry, a question in his eyes but he did not speak.  
  
“Alright,” Merry said quietly, “but we stay in the woods, where we have cover and won’t be seen. There is great danger out there.”  
  
“But if he needs us, then shouldn’t we be close?” Pippin pressed. Merry frowned and nodded hesitantly. “And I want to know the moment he’s out and safe.”  
  
“Alright, let’s go then,” Merry said softly.  
  
They traveled in silence through the woods, keeping themselves low until they came to the edge of the wood. There, they crouched down in the bracken, keeping to the shadows. The cave entrance was easy to see from their vantage point, so they watched it in silence.  
  
Minutes slid by very slowly, until they heard the soft pad of feet on dirt and turned to see one of the goblins loping up the river bank, making for the cave entrance. Sam drew in a panicked breath and watched in horror as the goblin darted inside, disappearing into the darkness. He trembled for a moment, then jumped up, scrambling over the bank, in pursuit. Merry jumped after him and drug him back.  
  
“No!”  
  
“You let go of me!" Sam cried, "I’ll not let him face this alone!”   
  
“No Sam! Come here,” Merry dug in his heels. “Frodo will be alright!”  
  
“You can’t know that!” Sam growled and kicked him. Merry bore the kick with a groan but his grip did not loosen.  
  
“Pip,” Merry called. Pippin watched them with wide eyes.  
  
“I don’t know who’s side to be on!” he cried. Merry flushed and let out a groan.  
  
“Frodo has his magic ring!” he whispered in Sam’s ear. Sam paused, his heart pounding.  
  
“Hey?”  
  
“He told us he would use his advanced burgling skills- when I know for a fact that he is no more a burglar than the rest of us,” Merry snorted, then dropped his voice back to a whisper, “no, he’s got Bilbo’s ring. It makes him invisible when he wears it.”  
  
“Invisible?” Sam asked softly.  
  
“Are you certain?” Pippin squeaked.  
  
“I've seen it in action. And Frodo would not have gone down there without it. He wouldn’t stand a chance. Just as none of us would stand a chance if we go down there!” he said, giving Sam a hard look. Sam stopped struggling and blinked at Merry, still unsure.  
  
“So you guessed he had it, when he proposed going down?” Pippin asked. Merry nodded. “I swear Merry, when this is all done, you level with us. Tell us everything you know.”  
  
“Alright,” Merry said softly, “I thought I could keep you safe by keeping things back, but it hasn’t worked and you are both in this so deep anyway.” Pippin sighed and they sank into silence for a moment.  
  
“Even if he’s invisible,” Sam said softly, “you can’t tell me his danger hasn’t grown deeper, what with that goblin going down there.” Merry grimaced.  
  
“We have to trust in Frodo,” he said softly, “if we go down there, then we will die. And he will never forgive us that.” Sam sniffed, a sob caught in his throat. It wasn’t a satisfying answer but it was all that they had.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Frodo watched the glint of light curving along the scored face of the blade as the Man raised it. It didn't seem real somehow.  
  
There was a sharp crack and a cry and then Frodo felt a heavy weight crash down upon him. He was too weak to react and his limbs were pinned in any case. Blackness swam in front of his eyes and he lay senseless for a time.  
  
Some awareness flitted back across his senses and Frodo moved, opening his eyes to stare up at the lamp-lit ceiling. He was disoriented and confused, but he was alive. And he was buried among barrels. Frodo blinked, trying to understand this, but his mind could only spin every time he tried to focus.  
  
_Barrel rider_ , he thought vaguely.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
It was Lotho. Frodo shifted, wriggling out from under the curve between two barrels that had fallen on top of him. Those barrels had shielded him and prevented anything else from crushing him. He sat back, studying the pile, his senses returning a bit and he searched for a glimpse of the Man. He spotted a limp hand under one of the barrels. It was still.  
  
“Frodo?” Lotho cried out again, “are you there?”  
  
Frodo kept quiet, seized suddenly by fear. The barrels had not fallen by themselves. Lotho must have done something. Tipped a shelf or untied something. Lotho might have just tried to kill him. The silence was broken by a sob. Frodo let out a slow breath. Lotho was crying.  
  
“Cousin?” Frodo said softly. Lotho gasped.  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“I'm here.”  
  
“I can’t see you!”  
  
“Do you need to?” Frodo asked in a low voice. Lotho blinked, evidently confused.  
  
“Are you hurt?” he asked.  
  
“Not really. Somehow.” Frodo stood, blinking. His entire backside was soaked in wine. “We should-” he broke off as the hand beneath the barrel clenched and Volund let out a grunt. Frodo gasped and stepped back in alarm as the Man grappled with the barrel pinning him. Frodo was in motion in an instant, though his vision spun and he stumbled.  
  
“Run Lotho!” he shouted. Lotho scrambled down the aisle, and together they bolted to the entrance and up the tunnel. Behind them, they could hear Volund shouting for their blood.  
  
Frodo sprinted ahead and burst out from the entrance. He gasped in relief to feel the breeze and see the stars once more, but he had only a moment to take them in. Almost at once his attention was drawn to figures, standing a little ways from the entrance, barely concealed behind the crumbling brick wall that Frodo himself had ducked behind. It was the two goblins, and they had their swords and bow. Frodo froze, but of course they could not see him. But they would see Lotho. Frodo turned and dashed back, just in time to see Lotho come up to the entrance. Frodo grabbed him, and slapped a hand over his mouth, dragging his cousin into the bushes at the side of the entrance.  
  
Together they huddled in the darkness, and Frodo could feel Lotho shaking. They were buried down in the leafy tangle, but still somehow Frodo felt exposed. His eyes sought the forms of the goblins, but from this vantage he couldn't see them. What were they doing?  
  
Volund came then, pounding up the tunnel sprinting into the night air. Frodo expected the goblins to call to him, but they did not. Instead, there was a wet thunk and Volund stepped back, his body going ridged. Lotho let out a soft sound of horror, despite Frodo's hand still being over his mouth. The Man stumbled as there was another soft slap and then he fell. One long arrow was buried deep in his chest, rising up from his body, another had pierced his skull.  
  
Lotho let out another sound of distress and Frodo kicked him. Almost at once, the goblins loped over to the Man's corpse, leaning down to paw over it.  
  
“Where is it?” Golag hissed.  
  
“Check his pockets,” Lugruk whispered.  
  
“Pockets? It's too big.”  
  
“The treasure isn't the firework!” Lugruk snapped, “It's some little thing. The hobbit was wearing it, I tell you.”  
  
“It sounds like a fool's tale,” Golag growled, “If we've just killed him for nothing-”  
  
“I tell you, he stole some great treasure off that hobbit! He was feeling all around for it before he sent me away. Afraid I'd see it and know what he had! If we can only find it now.”  
  
“Strip him down then. We will take everything.”  
  
“Yes, I don't like this country. If we can-”  
  
But the goblin did not finish his thought. His body jolted down into the earth, pinned and impaled on a long spear. Golag turned and let out a scream of fury, but then even as he rose, a spear flew through the air and caught him, piercing his body and knocking him to the ground. They let out chilling horrible gurgles as they lay dying. Their agony did not last, for a moment later, Aglaril emerged from the darkness and went to them, putting an end to their misery.  
  
Frodo let out a breath, deeply shaken, his heart pounding. He wanted to collapse where he stood, but he had something else that he needed to do. He took his hand away from Lotho's mouth and stepped back, then, Frodo slipped the ring off and had it in his pocket before he turned around. Lotho stared at him in amazement, then let out a yelp of terror as Frodo lunged at him and grabbed him by the collar.  
  
“You will never speak of this,” Frodo growled at him, tightening his grip. Lotho's eyes widened and he nodded. “Swear it,” Frodo demanded, "on your mother's life!"  
  
“I swear to you,” Lotho breathed, "on my mother's life." They paused, eyeing one another and Frodo released him. He straightened his clothing, then walked out from the bushes, Lotho trailing behind him. Frodo nodded to Aglaril who gave him a surprised look. Before he could greet her properly, three figures bolted from the woods and Frodo felt his heart leap. He let out a cry and ran to them. Merry, Pippin and Sam slowed only a little as they approached so that they nearly knocked him over in their enthusiasm.  
  
They were all crying. Sam tucked his head against Frodo’s shoulder and clung hard to him, even as Frodo put his arms around Sam’s back. Merry and Pippin too held to him. Merry reached out and set his hand to the side of Frodo’s head, looking into his face in awe.  
  
“You are amazing Frodo Baggins,” he said softly. Frodo let out a soft gasp and felt tears fall down his cheeks. He reached out and pulled Merry to him. Merry let out a breathless laugh and fell against him, knocking into Pippin and shifting their balance. Frodo let out a whoop as they all fell together pitching over into the grass. Someone broke his fall, and he grappled and flailed for a moment, trying to hug all of them at once. He was seized with such relief and joy that he couldn't stop laughing.  
  
He made himself sit up as Aglaril approached, though this was made difficult as Pippin was almost wholly on top of him and Sam and Merry were stubbornly hanging on to him.  
  
“Alright! Let me breathe!” Frodo pleaded as he rolled Pippin off, only for Pippin to let out a howl and plop back into his lap. Aglaril looked down at them, making no attempt to hide her delight.  
  
“Mr. Baggins!” she greeted him.  
  
“Good evening,” Frodo said politely, “thank you ever so much. Are you alright?” Aglaril smiled down at him.  
  
“And here I was going to ask you that.”  
  
“I am well enough,” Frodo said, trying to still his giddiness. “And Halbarad? The goblin said he was wounded.”  
  
“He is, but he is strong and the wound can be treated. Can you offer us shelter, hobbit?” she asked turning to look down at Lotho. Lotho looked up in alarm.  
  
“These are good people Lotho, and you owe your life to them,” Frodo said quietly, with just a small edge of threat in his voice. Lotho took a breath and nodded.  
  
“Very well.”  
  
Frodo eased, but the tension in the air around him persisted. His friends were staring at Lotho, with open hostility. Frodo met their eyes, and shook his head.  
  
“Frodo,” Pippin hissed in protest.  
  
“We’ve seen enough horror tonight,” Frodo said softly. “And I have not saved his life just so that one of you can hurt him.” There was a strained silence. Lotho shifted uncomfortably.  
  
“Thank you, Frodo,” he said very quietly. Frodo turned to him, hot fury taking hold.  
  
“There are a number of very rude things that I want to tell you, but it won’t do any good. Next time leave the strangers to me,” he said in a hard voice, “There is only room for one Mad Baggins in the Shire.” Lotho blinked, then nodded. The tense silence held for a long moment.  
  
“I think we should take our leave,” Merry said. Lotho glanced down at them.   
  
“If you are tired,” he said with only the barest unwillingness in his voice, “then you may stay at my home. It is large. You won’t have to see me.” His offer was met with silence. Frodo shook his head.  
  
“I think we should go. Thank you,” Frodo replied. Lotho nodded.  
  
“Frodo?” he said hesitantly. Frodo looked up at him again. The gentlehobbit looked very uncomfortable. “If I can do anything for you, you’ve only to ask.” Frodo stared at him coolly.  
  
“Very well,” he said slowly, “I may have a use for you someday.”  
  
They bid Aglaril goodnight, then set off, tracking southwest, though the woods and before long they found a path leading more or less in the direction they thought Longbottom might lie in. Frodo was achingly tired and he desperately hoped they could find lodgings before then.  
  
“Do you happen to know the land around here?” Frodo asked Merry softly.  
  
“We’ve tramped down here a time or two. Why?”  
  
“Do you know if there are any inns around here?”  
  
“Done in are you?” Merry asked softly.  
  
“Not at all,” Frodo sighed, “at least, not quite yet.”  
  
“If this is the road I think it is, then I believe there is a little inn along in here. Three maybe four miles?” Pippin guessed. Merry nodded.  
  
“And if that is too much for you, then we can always make a camp out here. We can find you some shelter and a bit of comfort.”  
  
“You are very good to me,” Frodo said, then dropped his light tone, meeting Merry and Pippin's eyes, “You really are,” he paused and turned to Sam as well, adding, “Thank you, doesn't seem to quite do it.”  
  
“Ah!” Merry laughed softly, “and neither does 'you're welcome'. Because of course we came. We couldn't have borne it otherwise.”  
  
“You'd have done the same for any of us,” Pippin added.  
  
“No amount of danger will keep us from you,” Sam said softly, “we love you so.” Frodo turned to him pierced by his words and pressed himself to Sam. He felt a few tears fall, but they were hidden and soaked into Sam's shirt. Sam held him and they came to a halt. Frodo tried to think of something to say, but his mind was so tired and he was so overwhelmed. Merry, Pippin and Sam knew his heart. He didn't need to make speeches for them. And it was such a relief to know that. He drew back after only a short time, allowing them to walk on.  
  
“Do you want to camp?” Merry asked him gently.  
  
“I'd rather not, if at all possible. I've had enough of it and I want a bed,” Frodo sighed, “and dinner if I can keep my eyes open.”  
  
“Poor thing! Did they starve you?” Pippin asked, clasping Frodo’s hand.  
  
“No, but it was scant fair. And I hadn’t the stomach for much anyway.” He put his arm around Pippins shoulders. His cousin leaned in for the embrace, then straightened.  
  
“Oh!” he laughed and ran ahead, disappearing into the dark.  
  
“Now where’s he gone off to?” Sam asked.  
  
“No telling.”  
  
“I hear a cart,” Merry said with a smile and jogged ahead as well. By the time Frodo and Sam found them, they were sitting up on the cart, the driver kindly offering them a ride.  
  
“It’s a blessing you lot,” the farmer said, “I don’t like traveling by night, but I got stuck out late with my folks and I’m only just now making my way back. It’s good to have company these days. All the thing you do hear of. And besides,” he laughed and glanced at Pippin, “I think this lad talks enough to keep me awake.” Frodo thanked the farmer and settled in the back with Merry and Sam. Sam leaned back, gazing up at the trees passing above them. After a few minutes he spoke, his voice quiet and pitched for Frodo's ears.  
  
“I can’t hardly believe everything is alright now,” he said. Frodo pondered this.  
  
“It does seem hard to take in,” he agreed, then turned himself, drawing a little closer to Sam. “Perhaps, think of it this way,” he said into Sam’s ear, quiet enough so that only he would hear, “your Frodo is here. And he will see that all is well. So you needn’t worry anymore.” Sam turned his face to gaze at him, the tension melting out of his expression. He set his head against Frodo’s shoulder and looked up at him with adoration in his eyes. Frodo smiled and kissed his head.  
  
After a time, they rolled into the small circle of houses and hills arranged in a small community, still comfortably outside of Longbottom. It was quiet out, since it was fairly late and there were only a few hobbits sitting in front of the little fountain or standing in front of the public house and inn. For the first time, Frodo felt self conscious. He was dirty, dressed in clothes that didn't fit, stained and smelling of wine, and his hair was in a tangle. He hoped he didn't know anyone, he thought as he peered out at the faces of the hobbits who looked up curiously at the appearance of the cart.  
  
“Frodo!”  
  
Frodo caught his breath and lifted his head to look over the railing. Fatty Bolger, who must have been one of the hobbits outside the inn, was running to the cart, waving his hat. Frodo was up and over the railing, going as quick as he could to the other hobbit. Fatty nearly plowed into him, knocking Frodo off his feet in his exuberance.  
  
_Oh no! Not again!_ Frodo thought breathlessly, but Fatty had seized him before he could pitch over and now held him in a tight hug.  
  
“You wretched Baggins!” Fatty gasp, overcome with emotion. Frodo sniffed and clutched him back. Fatty drew back and peered into his face, “Are you alright? Are you safe?”  
  
“Yes! Yes, I'm safe,” Frodo said, “and it's all as settled as it can be, I think.”  
  
“Oh I am so glad,” Fatty pulled him into another hug, sniffing as he wept unashamedly in the public common.  
  
“Hey there Fatty!” Pippin's voice came. Frodo straightened as Fatty released him and he turned to see his friends coming to join him.  
  
“You made it down here after all,” Merry said, then his gazed shifted behind them, “Ah. Your doing Mr. Hanseed?” The Bounder stepped close, tipping his cap to them, his eyes going to Frodo.  
  
“Yes, sir. And Mr. Frodo Baggins! I am glad to see you,” he said.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said, “I am very glad to be here.”  
  
“And the Rangers?” Hanseed asked softly.  
  
“At Lotho's estate, Highleaf, just north of here."   
  
"Halbarad was injured and Lotho has offered to give him a place to recover. Aglaril is there with him,” Merry said quietly.  
  
“Mr. Lotho Sackville-Baggins, offering them shelter?” Hanseed asked, “I suppose there's a tale to hear. Not that I'm asking,” he held up a hand, “If that's where they are, then I'd best be down there.” He glanced back at Frodo, “Cheers Mr. Frodo! I am ever so glad you've come out alright.” The Bounder departed shortly after and Fatty took them inside. He explained with some dismay that he and Hanseed had come to the inn late themselves, and as it was a small place, they hadn't been able to get a proper room. They'd been given a room off from the main hall that was used as extra seating when there were parties. Frodo was very sorry to hear this, for he had been aching for a bed, and even more so, for some privacy with Sam. Sam it seemed shared his feelings for he sent a glance Frodo's way. Frodo gave him a smile and took his hand, as they stood in front of the pub, waiting as Fatty went off to rouse the innkeeper once more and explain the situation. Sam gazed down at their joined hands, then met his eyes once more and tipped his chin up looking to the stables, tucked out of the way, behind the inn.  
  
“Ah, excuse us,” Frodo said softly and followed along with Sam, the pair of them slipping off without looking back. If he'd had half his wits he could have come up with something less obvious, but then again, he thought, did he need to, for Merry and Pippin?  
  
_No, of course not,_ he thought and felt glad. He followed Sam behind a shed and Sam turned to face him, his heart in his eyes. He reached for Frodo's hand again, then drew back, his face flushing. He stood, blinking and frozen and clearly overwhelmed. Frodo stepped close, putting his hand into Sam's.  
  
“It's alright,” he breathed and drew Sam's hand up to his cheek and slipped his arm around Sam's back. Very gently, he turned his face, still holding Sam's hand, and pressed a kiss to his palm. Sam drew in a soft breath and Frodo met his eyes. “It's alright,” he said again. Sam gasped and then tears were rolling down his cheeks. “Ah, don’t cry,” Frodo whispered.  
  
“Can’t help it,” Sam whispered back.  
  
“That’s alright,” Frodo sighed, rubbing Sam’s back, “just know that I’m here.”  
  
“Yes,” Sam sighed.  
  
“I am so sorry I had to leave you behind. And I’m so sorry that I disappeared,” Frodo whispered, “I never want to do anything like that again. It was so horrible on you all. That and my danger was all that I could think on. It made me sick.”  
  
“You know we’d always come after you.”  
  
“Yes but I didn’t think you had any way to find me,” Frodo murmured, “I still don’t understand it all.”  
  
“Time enough for that later. I just want to look at you. Feel you,” Sam added softly.  
  
“And I want to feel you, my dear,” Frodo whispered, rubbing against him, “I want to lie with you again.”  
  
“Tonight?”  
  
“The sleeping arrangements are not convenient, but if we both want to, I think we can work something out,” Frodo murmured, “there's always slipping out for a night walk. I imagine we can find some nice tall grass or the like.” Sam laughed softly and considered this.  
  
“You was so tired you nearly fell asleep on your feet walking here.”  
  
“Ah. Well, true enough,” Frodo chuckled.  
  
“And I’m fair worn out too,” Sam brushed away his tears, “reckon some of this crying is just from being tired out as well as relieved.”  
  
“Poor darling,” Frodo strokes his cheek, “So we’re both too tired for loving?”  
  
“I think so, as balled up as that makes me feel.”  
  
“Tomorrow then. There's no rush. I’ll be just as desperate for you. And I’ll be in a position to do something about it,” Frodo laughed softly.  
  
“But I wonder tonight if we could,” Sam took a breath, “could maybe sleep together. Close like we did that one night.”  
  
“You liked that?” Frodo asked gently, “me holding you?” Sam nodded shyly. “Sweet hobbit. I would love that.” Sam tucked an arm around Frodo's back and kissed his head. Frodo lingered close, resting himself against Sam, enjoying in the feeling of closeness.  
  
“Ah, there you are falling asleep on your feet again,” Sam said close to his ear.  
  
“My Sam will catch me,” Frodo said quietly. Sam chuckled.  
  
“Ah, that he will. If he don't fall asleep himself first.”  
  
Frodo laughed and opened his eyes, looking into Sam's face. There was such joy there. He moved his hand up to brush his fingers along Sam's cheek and stroke his hair. Sam's expression softened.  
  
"May I kiss you?" Frodo asked quietly. Sam nodded and leaned in, meeting him. They stood close together for a long while, letting everything else fade away. After a while though, Frodo closed his eyes and stilled, smiling as he felt Sam brush gentle kisses along his cheeks. He sighed in pleasure and then lifted his gaze to Sam's. “Let's go see if Fatty can get us a clear space on the floor to collapse on. I'll take anything at this point. As long as I can put my arms around you.” Sam laughed.  
  
“Clear space on the floor! Mr. Merry won't abide that. He'll bargain with that innkeeper for something better for you, mark me.”  
  
“Oh heavens. Yes he will, if he isn't stopped. Good old Merry,” Frodo said fondly. Sam rubbed his back and nuzzled Frodo's cheek. Sam's movements slowed and he breathed out before lifting his eyes to Frodo's, his expression solemn.  
  
“He kept me from doing some foolish things. Him and Mr. Pippin both really,” he whispered, “but Mr. Merry especially. And he was very good and kind to me when I was hurting the most.”  
  
“Ah,” Frodo cried out quietly and tightened his grip. They clung together once more. “I'm so glad you had him and Pippin with you then.”  
  
They went back in after a few more moments, and found Fatty and Pippin seated in the small common room at a table, a pot of steaming soup on a trivet before them. Pippin ladled soup into bowls for them and they sat down to the meal, tucking in gratefully. At any other time, the soup might have tasted slightly off- it would have been reheated for such a late meal and it had probably been made for an early dinner if not lunch or elvensees- but as Frodo ate it, it tasted like the best soup he'd ever had. It was so warm and creamy, perfectly seasoned with black pepper and the hen meat was tender, and the carrots and potatoes were soft and sweet.  
  
After a time he sat back, his senses buzzing with pleasure from the meal.  
  
“Where is Merry?” he asked. Pippin glanced up.  
  
“Talking to the innkeeper, I think,” he said. Frodo groaned and sent Sam a look and pulled himself up, heading to the main desk near the front of the inn. There, he found Merry seated with the innkeeper, both of them smoking.  
  
“And there aren't any friendly folks about who could take us in?”  
  
“They're farmers, lad! They go to bed early.”  
  
“Surely not everyone.”  
  
“Well, not me. But I've no room,” the hobbit sighed.  
  
“But you must have something that could serve as a bed.”  
  
“We’ve no more beds sir, I’ve made that as plain as I can,” the innkeeper sighed, as Merry peered at him.  
  
“But haven’t you any trundles or pallets or anything at all?”  
  
“We’re a small inn.”  
  
“Merry leave the poor hobbit be,” Frodo scolded and took him by the arm, “come help me build a fire.” Merry grumbled, but put his pipe our and let himself be tugged away. Frodo walked with Merry into the little room that had been set aside for them, which was homier than he was expecting for a space used for dining. The table had been moved to the far end, and turned on its side so that they had a span of floor space, and there was a large fireplace with wood and kindling stacked neatly at the side.  
  
“What did you do that for?” Merry grumbled, “He must have something that could get you up off the floor. It's an inn for pity's sake.”  
  
“I don't mind it,” Frodo said softly, “I really am too tired to care at this point. I only want a warm, dry, safe place to bed down. And we've got that, haven't we?” Merry nodded grudgingly and sat before the fire place.  
  
“Very well. Rest then, and I'll build you a fire,” he said.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said quietly. He watched Merry build the fire and then light it. Though he tried to hide it, Frodo saw Merry’s hands trembling. He leaned foreword and put his hand on Merry’s back. Merry turned.  
  
“Are you alright?” Frodo asked him. Merry nodded and smiled.  
  
“I know we’re safe, but my body doesn’t seem to quiet know it yet,” he said lightly and laughed, “never mind it.” Frodo felt a deep tenderness.  
  
“My lad needs a bit of reassurance, does he?” Frodo asked, smiling and tugged at him. Merry looked abashed, but he nodded and crawled over to his side. Frodo put both arms around his cousin. Merry drew in a breath and leaned into his embrace.  
  
“Sorry to be such a nuisance,” he said quietly. Frodo pulled him to his chest and tucked Merry’s head under his chin.  
  
“You are not a nuisance,” Frodo said softly, “You are my dear cousin. You squared off against a deadly river and dreadful enemies and risked your life, all to save me, when that should have never been asked of you. You are so brave and strong and clever. You saved my life tonight.” Merry sighed and curled closer. “I love you so. And I can never thank you enough.”  
  
“Love you,” Merry murmured. Frodo held him close and let his eyes slip shut. He thought he could probably fall asleep just like this. Instead he opened his eyes and gazed into the crackling fire.  
  
“Thank you for taking care of Sam,” he said quietly.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“He said you were particularly kind to him when he was at his lowest points. And that you kept him from doing foolish things.”  
  
“Oh,” Merry murmured, “I... well. Of course. He’s my friend.” Frodo tightened his embrace and pressed a kiss to Merry’s head. Merry sighed and lay his cheek against Frodo’s shoulder. “It took all of us, to come through this,” Merry said slowly, “Pippin said something like that. And he was right. Though it hardly seems possible, that we could have faced such things and come out whole.”  
  
“But we are whole. We are together and we are safe now,” Frodo murmured to him, “All of us.”  
  
Frodo sat still, allowing the minutes to pass. He thought he would doze off, but he didn't. Merry’s breathing, though, was so steady and slow and his body so heavy and relaxed that Frodo thought it very likely he was asleep. Well, that was alright. He would remain here then. Merry was exhausted and he’d needed comfort in order to get that rest.  
  
There was a quiet sound that broke Frodo from his revelry. He glanced up and saw Pippin and Sam entering the little room, blankets and pillows and padding in their arms. Sam glanced down and smiled at him. Frodo smiled up at him, gently tightening his clasped arms around Merry.  
  
“Where do you want this?” Pippin asked. Frodo shushed him and Pippin glanced down. "Oh sorry," he whispered.   
  
“Let’s set them down here,” Sam whispered, “in front of the fire.”  
  
“Then Frodo and Merry need to move,” Pippin whispered back.  
  
“Not just yet. We can work around them."  
  
“Work around who?” Merry asked.  
  
“Pip, you woke Merry,” Frodo complained.   
  
"I'm sorry," Pippin said. Merry sat up, yawning.  
  
“That’s alright. I didn’t mean to drop off,” he said in good nature and got up to help Pippin spread the padding.  
  
When they were finished, Frodo settled on a spot near the middle and lay down, turning to face Sam, who had taken the spot beside him. He paused a moment, then put his arm around Sam. Sam’s expression brightened and he curled closer, shyly slipping an arm over Frodo’s side. Frodo hugged him and rubbed his back, tangling their feet. Sam was warm and soft and it felt so good to hold him like this.   
  
Frodo closed his eyes, feeling his exhaustion settle on him. Another arm went round his chest and Frodo opened his eyes, feeling someone curling around his back. He glanced behind and saw that Pippin was tucking himself close.  
  
“Hullo Pip,” Frodo murmured. Merry snorted.  
  
“Leave Frodo be,” he whispered. Pippin closed his eyes.  
  
“No,” he said. Frodo chuckled and turned back to Sam, nestling close again and put his hand over Pippin’s, drawing it to the center of his chest and pulling Pippin closer, even as Sam kissed his cheek. Frodo gazed at him from under his eyelashes, warmed by the sweetness of Sam’s kiss. Sam blinked sleepily at him, smiling and relaxed, and clearly very happy.  
  
“Merry,” Pippin whined, “Come here.”  
  
“Pippin,” Merry protested.  
  
“Come on!”  
  
“Just do what he wants,” Frodo mumbled, “I’d like to get some sleep please.”  
  
“Fine,” Merry huffed. Frodo glanced back to see Merry slide over close to Pippin, who looked very smug. Sam reached over him and ruffled Pippin’s hair.  
  
“Noisy,” he grumbled.  
  
“Frodo, Sam called me noisy,” Pippin complained sleepily.  
  
“Hm. Sam wouldn’t do that,” Frodo said with a smiled and closed his eyes. He felt Sam stroking his cheek and sighed in pleasure.  
  
“Hey Frodo?” Fatty's voice came. Frodo opened his eyes and gazed up to see Fatty looking down at them from the doorway. “They found one pallet bed they’re setting up in the common room. Would you like it?” he asked.  
  
“Ha!” Merry cackled, pleased with himself. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“No thank you. I’m very comfortable where I am.”  
  
“Come join us Fatty,” Pippin called. Fatty glanced at him.  
  
“Sleep on the floor in a pile? No thank you. I’ll take the bed if none of you will.”  
  
“Prude,” Frodo laughed.  
  
“Ass,” Fatty said without missing a beat, “when you all are my age you’ll find that sleeping on the floor is rather painful,” he saw Frodo open his mouth and added quickly, “none of that Frodo! You don’t count, you’re far too spry for your age and you know it! So, good night all.”  
  
“Good night, gaffer,” Frodo laughed.  
  
Fatty left them and they quieted down after a few minutes. The room was dim and warm and Frodo was surrounded on all sides by hobbits who loved him. He sighed, and closed his eyes, soaking up the comfort that he drew from them. Sam and Pippin were curled around him, and Merry was lying close to Pippin, his arm draped over him to rest a hand on Frodo's shoulder.  
  
_They need comfort too,_ Frodo thought, drowsily. _They need to know I'm here. And that I will remain here with them. And that we are all safe and whole._  
  
And with that thought, he fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf says that Bilbo came off as well as he did because he started his ownership of the Ring with an act of mercy- sparing Gollum's life. Well. Frodo doesn't really have something like that. I mean, I guess Frodo's test is in the barrow when he decides not to put the Ring on and leave his friends to die. But that just doesn't seem like it rises to the same level of moral choice that sparing Gollum comes to. And yeah, he spares Gollum's life, but he's been using/carrying the Ring for a while by then. 
> 
> I wanted to have an opportunity for Frodo also to start his ownership of the Ring with an act of mercy against an enemy who he fears and despises and who it seems like it would be better not to spare. So that he too could have the benefit of facing a difficult test and responding with mercy- whether or not to save Lotho, at the risk of his own life. 
> 
> Now, I realize that opens up a whole thing. Gollum being spared is repaid with his act at the end where he destroys the ring etc. If Frodo spares Lotho, then in this universe that mercy should count for something right? Cause in lotr acts of mercy are never punished (I think). So if Frodo spares Lotho, what good comes from that? Lotho ended up hurting a lot of people and made a lot of lives miserable.
> 
> But I wonder if worse things would have happened without him acting as a figure head for the Isengard folks? I don’t have any canon to lean on here, but maybe without Lotho then Saroman's people would go after Will Whitfoot or the Thain? Sauroman's whole operation is built around getting a local ruler to bend to him, and Paladin and Will canonically do not go along with it. If Saroman's people couldn't corrupt a hobbit leader then I wonder if the Isengard folks might have ultimately stormed in and killed everyone and looted the Shire. Think movie version- where there’s that vision of hobbits in chains, being matched off. 
> 
> Also, I wonder if Lotho did anything to fight against the worst of what was happening? There may have come a point when he resisted, like his mother did, and even though he lost, maybe some good came out of it. Maybe Fatty wasn’t killed because Lotho stopped them from just killing any hobbit who put up a fight.
> 
> Bottom line, the Shire ultimately was not so badly broken that it couldn’t recover. And maybe Lotho had something to do with that. I like the idea anyway. Plus, I like the idea of Lotho being given a chance to learn from his mistakes, but ultimately he doesn't and that's what destroys him.  
> Canonically it’s hard to make an argument that Lotho kept the Shire from being destroyed or that he even resisted at all, especially since we never get any dialogue from Lotho or scenes with him in them. It’s all here-say and mostly here-say from people who don’t like him. But for the sake of this story, and for the Lotho that I wrote, I’m going to say that without Lotho, the Shire would have been decimated- so that Frodo’s acts of mercy saves both the entire world and keeps the worst from happening back home. 
> 
> Anyway. That’s what I think. As always folks, thanks for reading. There's still a bit to get through to wrap this story up, but we are getting there.


	26. Secrets, Guesses, and a Conspiracy Formalized

Frodo awoke slowly to the soft sounds of the inn folk, moving about in the rooms beyond, making breakfast and lighting fires. Their own fire had burned down to the barest coals, and the room was chilly, but Frodo was warm under the blankets, and still cuddled up on either side with Pippin and Sam. He closed his eyes, drifting in the blissful feeling.  
  
After some span of time, wakefulness came on him once more and Frodo opened his eyes. He was hungry and his stomach was not going to let him lie in. Very carefully, he wriggled up over his pillow and slid out from between them. Neither woke, and Frodo was glad. They needed rest. He glanced over and saw that Merry was gone.  
  
_Maybe he got hungry too,_ Frodo thought. He rose and went silently through the inn to the front area where he'd had his late dinner the night before. Merry was there and waved him over.  
  
“Good morning,” Frodo said as he sat down. Merry took a copper kettle off the trivet and reached for a cup for him.  
  
“I suppose that's coffee?” Frodo asked, trying not to sound unhappy.  
  
“Tea,” Merry said and poured a steaming cup, handing it to him.  
  
“Tea?” Frodo exclaimed, spotting tea leaves wrapped in thin paper down in the cup as steam rose around his face.  
  
“I ordered it for you. I wanted you to have hot tea when you woke.”  
  
“Merry,” Frodo said happily, “you’re spoiling me.”  
  
“Then let me!” Merry said, replacing the kettle, “besides. You keep coffee in stock at Bag End- and bought a press- and that's all just for me. I know you can't stand the stuff.” Before Frodo could answer, one of the inn staff came by their table.  
  
“Pardon, Mr. Baggins? This come for you,” he said, holding out a small envelope, embossed with Lotho's stamp. Frodo always disliked getting post from Lotho and his mother, but his disgust was strong enough this time to show on his face. “I'm just the messenger, sir,” the innkeep laughed a little nervously. Frodo glanced up at him and smiled faintly, taking the envelope.  
  
“My apologies,” he said. Merry passed a coin to the boy and he went off, whistling. Frodo sighed and broke the seal. “What does he want now?” he grumbled.  
  
“Lotho?” Merry snorted, “Oh, he's writing because he's realized that he's in need of an ass kicking, and he's asking if you'll oblige.” Frodo snorted and tried not to spray tea. Instead he coughed and elbowed Merry.  
  
“Don't make me laugh when I'm drinking!” he cried. Merry grinned and didn't apologize. “Oh! Not Lotho at all,” Frodo said, sitting up. “It's from the Rangers! They say, _I hope you are all well this morning. Hanseed has told us he met you at this inn. Please remain at this place another night. We plan to meet you before we depart for the Wilds again. We have matters to discuss with you. Aglaril and Halbarad._ And they've signed it with a funny mark.”  
  
“Well, I am glad we'll see them again. I felt a bit unhappy just leaving them there. But I have to admit, I was ready to do anything to get you away from that place,” Merry said. Frodo peered at him from over the rim of his cup. Merry met his eyes, then went on, “If they have questions for you then it's only fair they answer some of our questions. I can tell you I have a few.”  
  
“I do as well,” Frodo said. Too many questions, and he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answers. _Like if I am really safe now,_ he thought, and almost said it aloud. Instead he swallowed that question down and drank tea. After a moment he said, “I do wonder when they'll be along.”  
  
“Halbarad may not be able to move easily, depending on his wounds. And I wonder if the Bounders and Shirriffs will get involved in this business. That could delay them. And we know Hanseed is there.”  
  
“I would doubt Shirriff involvement, if Lotho has any say in it. Hanseed seems content to act as the Watchers think best. At least, he has so far. I doubt he would delay them.” Merry blinked and turned to him,  
“Why?” he asked, “are you in a hurry about something?”  
  
“No. At least, not really. I’d just like to get home.”  
  
“In time for your birthday maybe?” Merry chuckled.  
  
“Oh dear. That’s day after tomorrow, isn’t it?”  
  
“It is,” Merry smiled.  
  
“Not enough time to put much together,” Frodo sighed, “pity. I do like carrying on Bilbo’s tradition of an ostentatious party for our birthdays.”  
  
“Want me to put something together?” Merry asked softly. Frodo turned, studying him.  
  
“Oh? You’d do that?”  
  
“That is a nonsense question Frodo Baggins and you know it.”  
  
“Alright. Thank you. I leave it to you, dear Merry.”  
  
“Perfect!”  
  
“Could I ask another favor?” Frodo said, and dropped his voice, “Could you see that we get more comfortable accommodations?” Merry nodded.  
  
“Of course. I’ll see to it.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
After first breakfast, Frodo stepped out into the lane for some air. It was a beautiful early morning and the little village was already awake and bustling. He spotted a girl with a flower cart and drew in a breath. She had loads of pretty reddish pink flowers, with thin brilliant blooms. Frodo went over to her, waving as he did.  
  
“Those are very beautiful! What are they?” he asked.  
  
“Spider lilies,” the girl said, “it's five for a copper.”  
  
“I'll take five then, please,” Frodo said. The girl nodded and began wrapping up several of the red flowers, tying them with twine. Frodo reached into his pocket and stilled. He didn’t have any money on him.  
  
“Let me spot you,” Fatty said, stepping up. Frodo blinked.  
  
“Oh thank you,” he said. Fatty flashed him a grin and passed the girl a coin. She thanked him and gave the bundle to Frodo. Frodo nodded politely and moved off, strolling down the lane with Fatty.  
  
“Thank you again,” Frodo said, “I feel foolish, forgetting that I have nothing of my own. I'm still wearing Merry's clothes, even.” Fatty smiled.  
  
“A trifle, Frodo. Let your friends take care of you,” he said, then nodded to the bundle of flowers. “For Sam?” he asked quietly. Frodo blinked and turned to look at him.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ah. Wonderful,” Fatty said, clearly pleased. Frodo frowned.  
  
“You know too?”  
  
“That you're besotted? Yes of course,” he said firmly.  
  
“I swear! I can't have any secrets with you people,” Frodo grumbled and Fatty laughed.  
  
“That sounds like Merry and Pippin have caught on as well,” he said.  
  
“They have,” Frodo sighed, “they both independently dragged the secret out of me, first my preferences, then that I have feelings for Sam. It was a crushing blow to find that I'm not at all mysterious to them. They're so grown up.”  
  
“They are,” Fatty sighed, then turned his head to peer at Frodo, “they dragged it out of you? Sorry old chap. I told them to leave you alone.”  
  
“It's quite alright,” Frodo laughed, “they were kind about it. If not a little pushy.”  
  
“Merry was, you mean.”  
  
“At first,” Frodo murmured, “but really, he was very good to me. He and Pip both.”  
  
“Well,” Fatty said slowly, “are you alright with it?”  
  
“Them knowing? Yes. I should have told them ages ago. And Sam too. And Bilbo, of course,” Frodo sighed.  
  
“Oh,” Fatty coughed, “Bilbo did know, actually.” Frodo turned to stare at him.  
  
“Fatty!”  
  
“I'm sorry Frodo! I heard Bilbo talking to my dad about it once. I shouldn't have been listening. But, well, that's how I knew that you liked lads.”  
  
“You never told me,” Frodo frowned at him.  
  
“I was young. I didn't know how to,” Fatty said quietly, “but I should have. It was something you were entitled to know, hm?” Frodo nodded and bowed his head.  
  
“It's alright. It's really Bilbo who should have said something,” he smiled, “so is that when you started escorting me to all of those wild parties? I remember being so shocked when you offered to take me round to the young fellows.”  
  
“Well,” Fatty laughed, “I've quite a number of friends and relatives who run in those circles. I thought I was doing my part. Sorry if I was obnoxious.”  
  
“You weren't,” Frodo told him.  
  
“Those were fun times.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo agreed and shook his head. “Bilbo knew!”  
  
“He wanted to make sure you had ample opportunity to mix with lads like yourself.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo closed his eyes.  
  
“Frodo?”  
  
“Don't mind me. I'm just a little overwhelmed. I can't believe he knew and didn't ever talk to me!”  
  
“He was afraid he'd not handle it right. And he was like you, you know. Keeping things tucked away.”  
  
“But. Not from me,” Frodo murmured.  
  
“He was a sweet old hobbit. But not the wisest,” Fatty said gently, “he was old enough that he should have known better than you how to handle it. But poor old Bilbo was so used to living in his own head.”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo sighed, “Oh, I want to talk to him.”  
  
“You will.”  
  
“Hm yes,” Frodo glanced over, “want to go off into the Blue with me, see if we can find him out there?”  
  
“No! I have no inclination to leave the Shire.”  
  
“Dull Bolger.”  
  
“Mad Baggins.”  
  
Frodo giggled and cast a look at Fatty. Fatty smiled back at him.  
  
“I remember one thing Bilbo said that night," Fatty continued, "when he talked to my father. He said something along the lines of, 'I want Frodo to have the same chances and experiences that any other young hobbit might. And he'll have a hard time with that if he only sticks to Hobbiton and the occasional trip to Buckland. He'll never see that he isn't alone.' And my dad said something or another and then I remember Bilbo saying, 'Frodo is my dearest boy, and I want the best life for him. I can't bear if it he walls himself off from everyone and thinks he's alone. He's not.'” Frodo felt tears in his eyes and he halted. Fatty stopped too and peered kindly at Frodo. “If only he knew, you'd have such friends who would stand up to defend you. And that you would have a lad who is so entirely devoted to you, and you to him.” He paused, “Bilbo would be so pleased.” Frodo smiled and gazed down the road, his heart full.

<>O<>O<>O<>

  
Sam opened his eyes and blinked. In front of him, on the floor beside his blankets was a bouquet of spider lilies. He sat up and reached for them, holding them gently by the stems, supporting them with his arm. They were beautiful.

 _He got me flowers,_ Sam thought, dazed. _No one has ever got me flowers._ Sam took a few breaths. _Don’t cry,_ he told himself and laughed at that, as he gazed down at the blooms.

He got up and walked out into the common room, holding his flowers protectively. He was not quiet sure what he was going to do with them, but for the moment he wanted to hold on to them.

He had a brief breakfast with Pippin, and asked the inn folk if he they might have an empty bottle he could have. They brought him a wine bottle and Sam added a bit of water to it and slid his flowers down into the thin stimmed bottle.

He wanted to find Frodo, but Pippin said he’d gone out walking, so Sam wandered about the inn for a time, then went outside to enjoy the morning air, still clutching the wine bottle. He found himself climbing up the hill over the inn, where he found a pleasantly shaded spot to sit and enjoy the breeze. He planted his wine bottle in a mostly flat spot and gently spread the spider lilies out, adjusting how they fit together.

When satisfied, he leaned back and gazed out over the gentle sloping hills. They rolled with neat rows of tobacco or with towering trellis lines, filled with grape vines. The rosy dawn light lit them all though, and made the soft greens and deep autumn yellows light up like there was a candle inside them. He gazed at it all, feeling like he was a part of it, lit up inside with his own candle.

A head peeked up over the roof line and bright eyes found him.

“Good morning,” Frodo said as he climbed up. The light inside Sam blazed up.

“Good morning,” he nodded as Frodo walked up the little incline, two steaming cups in his hands. He sat down next to Sam and handed him one of the cups. “Thank you,” Sam said, taking it. Frodo’s eyes moved to the wine bottle and the flowers and he smiled. “And thank you for the flowers," Sam added, "They are very nice.” Frodo leaned back, his eyes moving to the warm dawn lit landscape.

“You're welcome.”

They sat in silence for a long while then, sipping tea and watching the light shift and grow stronger.

“And how are you this morning?” Frodo asked softly. Sam took a breath.

“I can't feel anything but joy right now,” he said quietly. Frodo turned to him, his eyes wide. He looked deeply affected by Sam's words. He closed his eyes and touched Sam's hand. Sam turned his palm over, to take Frodo's hand, then lifted it up and kissed it.

“And how are you this morning?” he asked.

“I feel that I am the most fortunate hobbit in all the world,” Frodo said softly. Sam moved closer, setting his tea aside, and put his arms around Frodo, hugging him to his chest. Frodo leaned in, and let out a contented sigh. They stayed like that for a long time.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Merry had managed to secure all four rooms offered at their little inn. This had given the innkeeper pause, but Merry had thrown in a generous tip for the trouble of the previous night and there had been no more complaint after that. He and Pippin took the bags to each room- they were sharing one, the second for Frodo and Sam, and Fatty was in the third, and the fourth would be for the Rangers, should they wish to spend the night.

As they finished with the bags, Pippin slipped the door shut and turned to his cousin.

“Merry,” he said quietly, “you were wonderful with all this.” Merry blinked.

“Ah, getting the rooms?”

“No, not the rooms, all of it! The Conspiracy, keeping watch, guessing the stuff about the door, protecting Frodo and rescuing him. All of it.” Merry laughed, startled to see Pippin so serious.

“Me? I think we all were. I didn’t do anything. Really I think I made a few miscalculations. I’m just hoping I’ve learned from it.”

“None of that,” Pippin said, “listen, that’s just what I wanted to talk about. You were trying to take too much on yourself.” Merry stared at him.

“Oh?”

“I’m here,” Pippin said, stepping away from the door, “I know I’m young, but I’m in this. So is Fatty and Sam. I know you gathered us all and this was your idea, but let us help. Don’t try to take too much on yourself. Whatever this is, it’s too big for one hobbit,” he broke off and dropped his gaze, clasping his hands. “Frodo still has that blasted trinket. We’re not through this I think. And worse may be ahead.” He met Merry’s eyes again, “I couldn’t bear it if you died, Merry.”

“Pip,” Merry drew in a breath and stepped close, embracing him. They stood together in silence for a moment then drew apart.

“Alright,” Merry said quietly, “you are right. We’re in this together. We’ll protect Frodo and protect each other. We may face terrors and horrors that are darker than anything in Bilbo’s stories, and maybe we will perish, but we are in it together.” Pippin laughed.

“Oh dear! You are too funny Merry! So grim about everything!”

“I’m only,” Merry broke off seeing a look in Pippin’s eyes.

 _Oh, he understands,_ he realized, _of course he understands._

“Well, one of us has to be grim,” Merry said lightly, “the rest of you are all so cheery.” Pippin giggled, then stood straighter, turning at the sound of hobbit feet in the hall. He went to the door and opened it.

“Sam!” he called. Merry went and pushed in next to Pippin. Sam was alone, peering into the room where his bag had been taken. He glanced back at them. In the crook of his arm, he carried a wine bottle, with several red flowers poking up from the opening. 

“You’re still carrying those around?” Pippin asked him. Sam blushed.

“I don’t exactly know what else to do with them,” he said. The cousins stared at him.

 _He is just a bit adorable,_ Merry thought.

“Well, come in here, if you’ve a moment?” Pippin said. Sam nodded and came to their door, following them inside. He set his flowers on the table by the window, admiring them.

“The Rangers aren’t here yet are they?” Merry asked, sitting on the bed nearby. Sam shook his head.

“Good. Because we have some Conspiracy business to discuss before they get here,” Pippin said. Sam blinked at him.

“Oh? Aren’t we done with that?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Merry said slowly. Sam paused, then sighed and leaned back, remaining silent and closing his eyes. They all stilled. After a moment, Sam straightened and opened his eyes.

“Why hasn’t he told us about his magic ring?” he asked quietly. Merry flicked his gaze up to Sam’s face.

“You know why,” he said gently. Sam sighed and lifted his eyes.

“He’s protecting us.”

“Yes,” Merry nodded, “and I think he’s been warned off speaking on it. And good thing too.”

“But you knew about it,” Pippin frowned. “Did you see him use it?”

“Not Frodo. Bilbo,” Merry smiled, “Frodo is far too careful for such things. In fact, I’m not sure if he has used the ring before now. Bilbo though, he used it, and he wasn’t as careful. I saw him slip it on once when he thought he was alone- to escape from the SBs.”

“Good old Bilbo,” Pippin chuckled, “no match for an inquisitive Brandybuck.”

“Ha!”

“But then,” Sam frowned, “how’d you figure Frodo still had it? I’d a thought Mr. Bilbo would take such a fine thing with him, him going off the way he done.”

“And I wasn’t sure he’d left it for Frodo,” Merry mused, “but Frodo gave himself away pretty quickly.”

“How’s that?” Pippin asked.

“After Bilbo left, Frodo became too much of a cagey old thing not to have such a big secret.” Sam say back and folded his arms, giving Merry a stern look. Merry coughed to hide a smile and went on quickly. “You’ve seen him, you two! Tell me I’m wrong. You try asking him how Bilbo pulled off that vanishing act, or what exactly Gandalf told him that night... or why he never allows Bag End to be left unlocked when he goes traveling. Bilbo used to never care. But what finally decided me was what you told me, Sam,” Merry said, “about Gandalf’s warning to your father. That whole thing about Frodo being in possible danger from something or someone from the outside, that might come seeking for him. That ring would be pretty good reason for something to come after him. And I can’t think of any other reason something from the Outside would be interested in him.” Sam and Pippin stared at him in horror for a moment.

“So then,” Sam said, “have you found out anything else about it? Where’d it come from?” Merry straightened. There was a touch of fear in Sam’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you all I know,” he said quietly. Sam’s mouth tensed but he remained quiet. “After I saw Bilbo disappear to hide from the Sackville-Bagginses, I began to do a bit of digging. And I sneeked a look at his book. The true one.”

“The true one,” Sam blinked, “What?”

“Oh, Bilbo wrote lies in the book he read out to us,” Merry said matter-of-factly. Sam scowled at him. “Hey now! I’m not saying Bilbo wasn’t wonderful, but he did tell untruths to everyone about some parts of his adventure. In the true book, he said that he found the ring in the goblin cave and that it had belonged to the Gollum creature, but that Gollum had dropped it. Bilbo picked it and put it in his pocket. He stole it.” Sam drew a breath and frowned.

“Mr. Bilbo is a _proper_ sort.”

“Yes Sam. But he still-“

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Sam said stubbornly. Merry closed his mouth and snorted. Sam had never growled at him or interrupted him before.

“You just ask me to tell you what I know,” Merry said. Sam huffed and raised his gaze. “You don’t want to know the true tale?” Merry teased, dropping his voice to a whisper, “the true tale of Gollum and his cavern? And how Bilbo used the ring to narrowly escape being murdered?” Sam’s eyes widened and he tucked his bottom lip in his mouth.

“Mr. Bilbo won the riddle game,” Sam said faintly, after a moment, “cause he was so clever. And that Gollum let him go, though he cursed Bagginses forever.”

“Bilbo cheated at riddles,” Merry hissed.

“No,” Sam protested.

“He asked a question that wasn’t even a proper riddle. By all rights, Gollum should have eaten him.”

“No!”

“Gollum tried to eat him, and would have, but Bilbo slipped the ring on by accident. He didn’t even know he was invisible.”

“Nay, he knew what he was about. He always did,” Sam said stubbornly. Merry felt a bubble of perverse pleasure.

“Lies!” he cried, “Bilbo was completely incompetent at every turn.” Merry paused, studying Sam as he did and wondered how far to take this teasing. The poor hobbit was growing more agitated, but Merry couldn’t resist.

“Mr. Bilbo was very brave and he saved himself,” Sam ventured.

“Not at all!” Merry said brightly, “He bungled it and if not for luck he’d have been eaten or at least lost forever.”

“No no no,” Sam said, drawing his shoulders up. “He’s a hero and I’ll not hear otherwise!” Merry tilted his head. Time for the deepest cut.

“Bilbo was going to murder Gollum.”

“Mr. Merry!” Sam said through his teeth. Pippin snorted.

“If Sam takes a swing at you, Merry, I’m going to help him,” he noted mildly. Merry dissolved into giggles. He almost hoped Sam would retaliate. If he’d teased Pippin like this, then they’d have resorted to tussling by now. He found himself wanting that same ease and friendliness with Sam.

“I am telling you what I read in Bilbo’s own hand, so don’t complain!” he said pursing his lips, though he decided to at last take pity on Sam. Sam huffed, and stayed obstinately silent, though he glowered at Merry. “But Bilbo didn’t kill him. He spared him. Though it almost cost him his own life to do it.” Sam blinked.

“That,” he said after a moment.

“You don’t have to believe Merry if you don’t want. He’s being an ass,” Pippin put in.

“I’m sorry for teasing, Sam,” Merry added, “You are right. Bilbo was a hero. I’m just being obnoxious.” Sam snorted, easing, his expression growing thoughtful.

“Nay. That, well, all of that, it feels true. Truer than the tale I heard.” He was silent a moment then raised his eyes to both of them, “I don’t like it.”

“Well Bilbo wasn’t quiet the clever hero he made out, but I still think he did good,” Merry said gently. Sam shook his head.

“No, I mean, yes that’s so, but I was thinking, I don’t like that he wrote down such a lie. And that he made such an effort to hide it. It’s strange. And it’s not like Mr. Bilbo.”

“He was truthful to the point of rudeness,” Merry nodded. They were all quiet. “No,” Merry said at last, “Your right. It’s strange. And I don’t like it either.”

They spoke together for a few more minutes, and then Pippin declared it time for lunch. They went into the inn common room to investigate their prospects, but Merry was seized by a restlessness. He wanted a stroll before lunch, to gather his thoughts. After promising to meet them in twenty minutes or so, he set out walking down the town’s main road, gazing at the holes and the rolling countryside beyond.

Talking to Sam and Pippin about the true tale of the ring stirred memories from his early teenhood, when he’d first begun to gather evidence about the ring, and when he’d gotten his one and only glance at the true account.  
  
It had only been a few years after Frodo had gone to live in the Shire, when Merry had seen Bilbo use the ring, and at once he began his snooping. He was not so very practiced at it, and he’d been caught. He’d been in the middle of reading the true account, sitting cross legged on the floor in Bilbo's study, when he’d heard Bilbo at the front door. He jumped up and shoved the secret book back into its locked box- he had been a fair lock pick, even at that tender age- and stored it back into its hiding place in the false bottom of a desk drawer. He was still caught- for there were no places to hide in the study and if he walked into the hall he’d be spotted at once. And Bilbo would be suspicious of any tale Merry might tell him, for Bilbo's study was strictly off limits. Merry did not want him to be suspicious- not if he ever wanted a chance at that book again.

So he did exactly what Bilbo had taught him- he diverted attention away from his true nefarious act with another nefarious act. He’d turned and opened a sliding cabinet, and unlocked it with a hidden key he’d discovered during his search for the book. Rolls of important legal documents were carefully tied, trifolded, and tucked into cubbies, each with small spidery handwritten labels.

“Merry-lad?” Came the gruff voice of his uncle. Merry made himself jump and gasp and he turned, guilt written on his face.

“Ah! Uncle Bilbo! Sorry,” he said, “I was just...” he paused for drama, “... trying to find There and Back Again.” It appeared to be such an obvious lie- Merry knew very well that the red book was kept in the library- that Bilbo did not bother to dignify this with an answer. Instead, Bilbo raised his bushy eyebrows and his gaze moved past Merry up to the cabinet. He frowned, then his eyes moved back down to Merry and he stared hard at him.  
  
_Oh dear,_ Merry thought. Bilbo's scowl darkened and he sighed, taking a seat behind his working desk.  
  
“Sit down Meriadoc,” he said briskly, “and close the door.” Merry did as he was asked and then sat, numb. He'd never made Bilbo angry before. It felt horrible.  
  
“I'm quite sorry,” he said softly. Bilbo peered at him.  
  
“It's alright,” he said. Merry blinked. “I know what you are after. How did you work it out, lad?” Bilbo asked, his intelligent eyes glittering at him from the behind the sunbeam and dust motes. Merry froze, wildly wondering how his subterfuge had failed and if Bilbo could read minds.  
  
“Well,” Merry cleared his throat, “It's just that I was... ah... you see...”  
  
“You're father told you, didn't he?” Bilbo demanded. Merry drew in a breath of surprise. “Ah! He did! Damn.” Bilbo gritted his teeth and swore, “He should not have done that! What an ass!” Bilbo shook his head and grabbed for one of his pipes, lighting it, muttering as he did. “I know what he's about. He thinks he has to tell you such things because you're going to be Master of the Hall. Well, it's not something to burden you with.” Merry held himself still,trying not to show the bewilderment he felt on his face. He wasn't sure what he'd just stepped in, but whatever it was, Bilbo was fuming. Still, it sounded like Bilbo was talking around something he ought not to know. And Merry, already guilty, wondered if perhaps he should get himself out of this before Bilbo told him whatever it was.  
  
“And now you think I'm doing the same thing he did, hm?” Bilbo asked, his expression softening, a deep sadness coming into his eyes.  
  
“No,” Merry said softly, hating to see such sorrow in his uncle's eyes. Bilbo snorted.  
  
“I just caught you in my estate records, boy.”  
  
“I'm sorry again,” Merry said quietly. Bilbo waved a hand dismissively.  
  
“You are trying to understand Frodo's situation here, hm?” he puffed at his pipe. “Well. It's true. I've made Frodo my heir. Heir to everything and all my titles. Just the way your father was going to make Frodo his heir, before you were born,” Bilbo said, gazing out the window as he puffed. Merry drew in a breath. “Frodo is a smart careful one, with a brightness and wisdom in him. Even as a little lad. Saradoc saw that. I just hate that it's the only reason that your father agreed to adopt him.” Merry felt a coldness come over him. “Did he tell you that too?” Bilbo asked.

“He... didn’t exactly...”

“No, I suppose not. But you still worked it out, didn’t you? You are a clever little Brandybuck after all,” Bilbo said in a low growl. Merry’s mind whirred with this new information. If his father had only adopted Frodo in case he didn’t have his own son, then what had that meant for Frodo when Merry had been born? Was that why Frodo was sent away? Because he wasn’t useful anymore? Merry’s hand tightened into fists. Bilbo watched him.

“It’s upset you hm? Yes, you might be a Brandybuck, but you aren’t as bloodless as some of your kin,” Bilbo snorted, “I was quite angry at your parents for many years. But I've come to see that they had to make hard choices. Sara needed someone to pass his titles to. He has responsibilities. And there must be a Master of the Hall. I understand. Really, I do. But even if I understand, I'm not sure that I can ever forgive them for abandoning their care of Frodo and treating him as a spare as soon as you were born,” Bilbo growled, chewing his pipe as he scowled. Merry felt as if his stomach had dropped into his toes, at this confirmation, but Bilbo went on, oblivious.  
  
“It really was intolerable. The boy being raised by tutors! No wonder he got into such trouble. When I took Esme and Saradoc to task over it, they told me that if I objected so strongly then I was welcome to adopt him. Which I took as further proof of their disinterest and neglect. That they would let me – someone who had not even the slightest idea of how to raise a child – adopt the boy. It was madness,” Bilbo barked, then paused he puffed a moment. He went on quieter, “But I may have been harsh on them. They might have seen something in me at the time that I had not.” He fixed Merry with his gray eyes.  
  
“I am a selfish old hobbit, and it is true that I also needed an heir. And I have used Frodo for that purpose. I have done many of the same things that made me so particularly angry at your father. For I also have titles and responsibilities to pass on. Such as they are, anyway. But I like to think that I have made a home for him here. That I have given him what I can of myself. I know it's not much. And he deserves better. And what I have given him, I gave it to him late. He needed me when he was a babe. And I wasn't there. Maybe if things had been different, I could have been, but... well.  
  
“At least he has his friends. You most of all, Merry-lad. Those years at the Hall were very hard on him. Harder than he lets on, I think. He must have known at some point that he wasn't loved,” Bilbo sighed, shaking his head, “except, of course, that he was loved by you. I think you were all he had, for years, you know.” Merry was helpless to stop himself; he blinked away tears, letting them fall. “Ah! I'm sorry,” Bilbo looked uncomfortable, and drew out a pocket handkerchief, leaning forward to press it into Merry's hand. “And of course, that's why you are here, hm? Looking after Frodo.”

“Oh Uncle Bilbo,” Merry said softly.

“There, there, lad,” Bilbo said kindly, “I am so very happy that he has a friend like you.” The old hobbit paused, then went on quietly, “Somehow, Frodo had it in him to give me a chance. I'm not sure why. It must have been plain to him that I very well could have been treating him as a convenience. Just the way that your father treated him. But even so, Frodo let me take him in. And he gave me his love,” Bilbo's eyes softened in fondness. He added quietly, “He really is remarkable, isn't he?”

“He is.”  
  
Soon after, Merry had escaped the study, and went out into the garden and down the Hill until he found Frodo reading by the pond. He'd sat with him in silence, deeply shaken by what he'd heard, his head still whirring. Frodo had cast a look his way.  
  
“What's wrong?” he asked. Merry drew his knees up and hugged his legs, scowling.  
  
“I think I hate my parents,” he said softly.  
  
“Merry you do not! Don't say such things!” Frodo scolded him. Merry only frowned harder, his face flushing as he tried not to cry. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Frodo asked.  
  
“No,” Merry said.  
  
Now, as Merry walked down the road, gazing over the hills, he paused. He'd always loved Frodo, but after that conversation with Bilbo, he had begun to take special care that Frodo always felt loved and cared for. And it had awoken a need to protect his cousin that had not stopped burning within him, and Merry felt that that need would never fade. No, he would love and protect Frodo for the rest of his life.

<>O<>O<>O<>

It was late afternoon before a cart pulled into the neighborhood, and Aglaril jumped down from the driver's seat. Frodo stood and waved to her. She returned his wave, as she went to the back of the cart. Halbarad's head came up from the back of the cart and he peered out at them, raising a hand in greeting. Hanseed was there too, and he jumped down from the cart as Aglaril helped Halbarad down.  
  
Frodo walked slowly out to them, extinguishing his pipe as he did. He was feeling almost back to himself. He was dressed in a new set of clothing- courtesy of Pippin who had hopped a carted to Longbottom, where he'd bought a few things for Frodo, then come back before tea time. Besides the new clothes, Frodo had had a good scrub down and wash, and he already had several good meals under his belt.  
  
“How are you?” Frodo asked, going to them, “I really am sorry about how we lit out of there last night.”  
  
“Not at all,” Halbarad said. He was able to stand and walk on his own, but his chest was wrapped tightly, and one arm was bound in muslin. Frodo stared, feeling very unhappy that the Man had been hurt.  
  
“It was understandable,” Aglaril said, “Very understandable, now that we know your cousin Lotho Sackville-Baggins a bit better.”  
  
“Oh no,” Frodo winced, “I thought I had frightened him enough to be on his best behavior.”  
  
“I think he was,” Hanseed grumbled.  
  
“Ug, let's not talk about that little worm,” Pippin said, bounding up behind Frodo, “come inside! Merry's bought out the whole inn and they have very good food here. You've missed tea, but there's still dinner and supper.”  
  
“Dinner and supper? Which is it?” Agalaril asked, smiling down at him.  
  
“It's both of course,” Frodo said. The two Rangers looked perplexed, but didn't argue. Instead, they all went inside.  
  
“Is there some place in this inn where we can be assured privacy? Our talk isn't the kind that is suitable for a common room,” Halbarad said.  
  
“Our room is the largest,” Frodo said, taking them down the hall, “and since Merry bought all the other rooms, we won't have to worry on other hobbits being about.” They entered the room and Frodo held the door open. The room was probably meant for a small family to gather in, for beside the sleeping area, there was a set of soft chairs and a couch in front of the fire place, along with a small table for dining, should the room occupants not wish to dine in the common room with the rest of the guests. The two Rangers sat on the couch, the only furniture large enough to be comfortable for them, while the rest of them piled into chairs- Fatty and Frodo- or took a seat at the table- Hanseed and Merry. Pippin and Sam sat on the floor, though there was space at the table. Sam set about putting the kettle on and Pippin, Frodo thought, wanted to be closer. The Rangers gazed at the assembled group of hobbits.  
  
“Thank you for staying and waiting for us,” Aglaril said, “We have much to speak on, so I wonder if first, we could hear your tale, Mr. Baggins? From the time that you were taken, please.” Frodo took a breath, uncomfortable. He wasn't sure he was ready to relive the whole horror just yet. Halbarad peered at him.

“If having your friends here will cause you to soften any of your story or deny the hard parts, then it is better to let them remain outside.” Frodo blinked.

“Too late,” he sighed, “they'll never let me hear the end of it if I shut them out now,” he laughed.

“Alright,” the Watcher said, “but when it comes time for us to discuss certain observations and give you an account of our work, they must leave.” There were cries of protest at this.

“They can be trusted, I give you my word,” Frodo sighed.

“Nay, sir,” Hanseed said, “with Bounder business we hold to the same. And these folk are more closed up than even we are. No, Mr. Baggins, if these folk are to give you a report, then it must be in confidence.”

“I really don’t see why,” Frodo sighed, “aren’t they just as mixed up in this business as I am?” The Watchers exchanged looks.

“What you chose to tell your friends is your business. But we will not divulge what we know to any but you, sir. Perhaps you will understand a bit better why once we have spoken our piece.” This was met by silence. Frodo had a feeling that his judgment was somewhat clouded by just how warm he was feeling toward his friends and Sam, but even so, he didn't want them shut out.  
  
“It’s alright, Frodo,” Merry said quietly, “you do what needs to be done.” Frodo turned around to stare at him. Merry met his eyes, his face serious. “It's strange business, and if these people can tell you something, then I want you to know it. Even if we can't.” Frodo clenched his hands into fists.

“Very well,” he said quietly, turning to the Rangers, “if those are your terms.”  
  
Frodo told them everything, to his best recollection. Though the experience had seemed to last a long time, the telling of it went by much quicker than he expected. A few time, when describing the harder things- Hob's death and his own close brush with death at the hands of the conjurer, his voice sank down into a low murmur. But he told each detail as best he could. He had a feeling it was important to the Rangers, and he wanted to be as helpful to them as possible.

The only thing that he omitted was the ring. He said that he told Volund to take the trunk because he thought it might be a good distraction. And he recalled that there were some pyrotechnical devices that might be of interest or of use. He'd said that he used burglar skills to creep around the wine cellar, and that it was only his hobbit stealth that had allowed him to remain hidden to the goblins waiting in the darkness. He hid the ring almost reflexively. Gandalf's warning had made him very careful to never get near mentioning it in all the years since Bilbo left. But there was something else too, he thought. He felt protective of the thing, in a way that he hadn't before. But, he thought, was that so odd? It had saved his life, just as it had saved Bilbo's life. Perhaps, he was only now beginning to understand some of what Bilbo had felt for the ring.  
  
At last he came to the end of his tale. The Rangers thanked him, then their eyes moved to the other hobbits.  
  
“Ah. Time for us to leave,” Merry said and stood. Frodo was surprised that there were no more grumbles. Pippin stood, and Sam, and Fatty, all moving to follow after Merry. Frodo sent Sam a look that he hoped showed how sorry he was. Sam met his eyes and gave him a slightly strained smile. It made Frodo's heart ache. He wanted nothing more than to go to Sam and comfort him, for it must not have been easy for him to hear Frodo's story. He wished he's asked the Rangers for a break.

<>O<>O<>O<>

“That was a good line Merry,” Pippin snorted, “ _I want you to know this business, even if we can't!"_  They were seated in Merry and Pippin's room, sipping beer from a pitcher the innkeeper had brought for them.

“It's true. I want him to know. He needs all the help he can get.”

“But you're not going to let him know it alone,” Fatty observed.

“Well, no,” Merry admitted.

“Ah,” Pippin said, nodding, “so we need a spy.” They turned to Sam.

“I'm not a very good spy,” Sam sighed, “I don't know what you fellows think I know about such.”

“You're quiet and discreet and you have plausible explanations for being in all sorts of places,” Pippin said.

“A gardener has business skulking around some inn miles from his home?” Sam grumbled.

“You'll come up with something,” Pippin chuckled. Sam sighed. “Besides, if you are discovered, Frodo won't let them kill you.”

“I beg your pardon!”

“It's true Sam,” Merry nodded, “Frodo might not let them kill us either, but he isn't above allowing nasty things to happen to us if we deserve it.”

“Aye, and what if I deserve it?” Sam demanded.

“As far as Frodo is concerned you wouldn't deserve anything nasty ever.”

“Oh he's got you there,” Fatty nodded.

“Lor you lot,” Sam sighed. Merry stilled and watched him. He was getting better at reading Sam.

“Right then, one more matter,” he said, “Pip, Fatty, clear out. I need to ask Sam something.”

“No more keeping things back!” Pippin spat.

“I’m not keeping something back, I promise.”

“Come along young Took.,” Fatty said, “Let’s humor the Brandybuck.”

“You're wasting time,” Pippin said crankily as he rose, “the Rangers are spilling their secrets as we speak!”

“Yes! Yes,” Merry said getting up and closing the door in his face. He came back and sat on the bed across from Sam.

“What is it, sir?” Sam asked with a hint of nerves in his voice.

“You don’t have to spy for us,” Merry said, “you know that, don’t you?” Sam drew a breath and clasped his hands together.

“Course,” he said quietly.

“I’d understand if you didn’t want to. And I’d understand if you wanted to quit the Conspiracy.” Pain flashed into Sam’s expression and he dropped his gaze.

“I didn’t like this from the beginning,” he said, “and it’s worse now, than it was when we started.”

“I know,” Merry said softly.

“But we all of us know why we are doing this.”

“Yes.”

“And we can’t let him bear this alone. What has changed between me and him- it don’t make a difference here. Except it cuts me harder.”

“I am so sorry about that,” Merry murmured, “you know, we can keep you out of our plots. There’s no need for you to bear such.”

“No, there’s every need,” Sam said quietly and fixed Merry with determination in his eyes, “if this Conspiracy is to succeed- and it must- then you need your Chief Investigator.”

“But I can do it,” Merry said, “or some combination of Pip and me. We are very sneaky.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Sam smiled wanly, “but are you going to tell me that the pair of you can watch him as close as I can, day in and day out?”

“No,” Merry said softly.

“And if the worst comes and he slips past us...”

“But he,” Merry grimaced, “he wouldn’t. He’d tell you.”

“Ah,” Sam murmured but didn’t say more. Merry stilled.

“Sam, he would,” he ventured. Sam remained quiet for a long moment, gathering himself before he could raise his eyes again.

“If there was no ring nor threat from the Outside, then I'd say so. Me and him have had it out on that point. And I trust him as far as that goes. But this ring is a strange business, as you said. And he will do what he can to protect us." Merry kept himself quiet. Sam met his eyes. He seemed to gather himself then, and Merry was struck by that same hardness in Sam's eyes that had so surprised him in the past. "If he’s to be watched, then let it be me,” he said quietly. Merry reached out and clasped his hand.

“As you like, Sam.”

<>O<>O<>O<>

Back in the room, Frodo stood with the Rangers and Hanseed at the table, as the Bounder unpacked a cloth from his bag. He placed the torn cloth onto the table top and spread it out. Frodo gazed down on it and saw the outline of a large hand print, made with a white chalky paint. He blinked at it and looked up at the Rangers.

“What is this?” he asked.

“It is an emblem, worn by the goblin archer.”

“Who's emblem?” Frodo asked.

“We do not know,” Halbarad said quietly. “Did the goblins tell you any name or place from whence they came?” Frodo pondered this, then shook his head.

“No specifics. There was a lot of talk about a Master to the south. And a Questioner. And,” he frowned, “one of the goblins said they were to take me to a tower.” The Rangers drew in a breath, tensing. Frodo lifted his gaze to their faces. “Does that mean something to you?”

“There is a tower, known to us,” Halbarad said slowly, “one with dark rumor all about it.”

“It is in a cursed land far to the southeast,” Aglaril said, “and if that place was to be your destination then you...” She trailed off.

“They would have killed me?” Frodo asked softly. Aglaril shook herself, eyes wide.

“You would have been ruined,” the Ranger murmured.

“Ruined,” Frodo pondered. They were all silent. “I have to admit," Frodo said, "what weighs most on my mind, isn't so much what might have happened, but what might yet happen. Is this truly done with?” he lifted his gaze, “this man and those creatures, they came on me for some purpose. They may be dead now, but might there be others? Drawn to me for some reason?”

“Do you know the reason they came?” Halbarad asked. Frodo stilled. The Man seemed to have known something about the ring and its powers, for he hadn’t been surprised when he saw Frodo’s shadow, and he’d told the goblin that Frodo had hidden himself to all eyes. And he’d felt for the ring when he’d pinned Frodo to the floor. Yes, he’d known something.

But had it really been the magic ring that he’d been after this whole time? Frodo supposed that made the most sense, though there were still things that bothered him.

The man claimed the treasure would not be destroyed in a smial fire, and yet his little ring would have melted. And then too, if the treasure was the ring then how had the man heard of it? Bilbo hadn’t told anyone about it except Gandalf and Frodo himself. Frodo sighed, aware that he’d kept them waiting for his answer.

“I have guesses,” he said, “but I cannot say if they are good or not.”

“We have guesses too,” Aglaril said quietly, “but it is perhaps better not to speak of them. Guesses can be dangerous and we are not wise enough to council you in any case.” Frodo nodded.

“Still, whether I know the reason they came after me or not, I do think they came on me for the same reason,” Frodo said slowly.

“That is a fair guess,” Halbarad nodded.

“And I wonder what changed,” Frodo said quietly, “I have lived here all these years in peace, and then suddenly I am beset on two sides by dueling forces, each trying to claim me. What changed to bring them here and at the same time?” Halbarad and Aglaril exchanged glances.

“The world itself is changing. There are powers growing in strength out there that have not walked the land in generations of men. And their servants grow in number and in strength and in cunning.”

“There have been spies around the edges of the Shire, for some time now,” Halbarad said, “we do what we may to discourage them, but there are more now.”

“And you think one of these spies heard something?” Frodo asked.

“That would seem to be the most likely thing.”

“But heard what?” Frodo sighed, “my business is my own. I know I am talked on, but I haven’t done anything outlandish lately.”

“Well not you sir,” Hanseed said. They turned to him and he blinked at the attention. “Begging your pardon, but I wonder if it could have been Mr. Bilbo folks were talking on.”

“They’ve been talking on Bilbo since the day he left,” Frodo sighed, “there’s nothing new there.”

“Aye, in the Shire maybe,” Hanseed nodded, “but I mean to say, I was out in Bree in the summer, and the story of his birthday is making the rounds out there once more. Aye, they even had a reenactment at the Bree fair. The fellow they got to play him was fair good too.”

“They acted out his birthday,” Frodo said softly, “all of it?”

“Well, the speech. And the, ah, finishing act, as it were,” Hanseed said. Frodo felt a chill.

“And so there were hundreds of people watching this spectacle?” Halbarad asked. Hanseed nodded.

 _Mad Baggins who can disappear in a flash!_ Frodo thought and his heart sank. 

“And if someone got interested in Mr. Bilbo, then it would have been easy enough for them to find out more about Mr. Frodo Baggins, his heir. Where he lived and so forth," Hanseed said. Frodo frowned.

“But if they wanted Bilbo, why bother with me?” Frodo asked, “unless they thought I could tell him where he went. Which I cannot.”

“No,” Hanseed agreed, “and they did not try to come on you and offer you riches in exchange for information, which is what they will often do. No, the first move made against you was the poisoning. That tells me they were more interested in disposing of you. Perhaps they were more interested in searching Bag End, seeking for clues to the elder Baggins’ whereabouts.”

“What clues? He left no clues,” Frodo sighed, “to be honest, I don’t think he knew where he would end up.”

“You don’t think he was headed off to see his dwarf friends?” Hanseed asked, “That’s what I always heard. Mind, I reckon ‘twas only a guess.”

“He may have,” Frodo nodded, “or to revisit the places he traveled before and wrote of in the Red Book.”

“The Red Book?” Aglaril asked.

“My uncles’ narrative travel log,” Frodo said, “from when he went out into the World many years ago.”

“If I were seeking for him,” Halbarad said slowly, “I would want a copy of that travel log.” Frodo was silent for a moment.

“Then, you think that’s what the dead creatures and the false elves were after? The Red Book?”

“Is the existence of such a book common knowledge in the Shire and among your people? And is it known that you possess it?”

“Yes.”

“Then, That is my guess.”

“It still don’t seem sense,” Hanseed said quietly, “they’d not even try and get Mr. Frodo to tell them something? Wouldn’t it be likely he’d know more than an old book?”

“They would not have succeeded,” Frodo said, “I really don’t know where he is. And if I did, I’d never tell. Not for anything.”

“From what you’ve said, rumor of Mr. Baggins’ limitless wealth are well known, and would have been included in any story told on him. So what could they offer him? There is no great hobbit treasure stolen away and available for ransom.” Aglaril said. Halbarad nodded.

“But to think Mr. Frodo would not be of any use to them?” Hanseed pressed with a frown.

“I am sorry to tell you this, but in the larger world, your people, if they are known at all, have a rather undeserved reputation for... simple mindedness.”

“Oh,” Frodo said, stung.

“To most, you are worthless children,” Aglaril continued, “who lost any wits they had from smoking and eating too much- silly nuisance creatures that must be constantly watched over, without the capacity for serious thought.”

“Well!” Hanseed huffed.

“Absolute character assassination!” Frodo said in mock distress, “I’d protest more, but how can I, to those who are charged with watching over our people?” Frodo smiled, “so the creatures assumed I would not be capable of anything useful, and just decided not to bother with me?”

“Well, for a time,” Aglaril said, “their tactics changed very quickly. There were no more attempts to directly kill you.”

“I wonder why.”

“We may never know. Only that they must have heard something else that convinced them that you would be more valuable to them alive.” Frodo pondered this. The village had been full of talk after he survived the mushroom incident. What was it that Sam had said?

“The village was buzzing with the notion that I was a witch- brewing potions, if you can believe it, with endless wealth and endless youth.”

“Endless Youth,” Aglaril murmured, “that might have caught their attention.”

“Really!” Frodo huffed softly.

“And so they began to try to steal you away rather than outright kill you.”

“Oh. Yes,” Frodo nodded, “one of the dead creatures, that night in the woods, he told the others that I was not to be killed.”

“Then they had orders not to kill a hobbit of interest,” Halbarad mused.

“Of interest,” Frodo sighed, “I am very lost in all this. And I don’t understand what you mean.”

“We don’t understand much more than you do, I’m afraid. And we cannot say more.”

“Then can you tell me at least, if you think I am safe?" Frodo asked, "I will not stay here if I am to put my friends and neighbors in harms way again. It would be intolerable.” The Rangers were silent.

“I think,” Aglaril said after a moment, “that you are as safe as anyone can be these days, for the present. But how long that safety will last, that no one can say.”

“Then more danger will come?”

“That all depends on how much information was shared among your enemies. Now, I will say, it is fairly common for servants of the Enemy to be very guarded about what they tell one another and what they report, always afraid that another will take credit for their works. I have some hope that the creatures and this Volund died before they could pass along what they had learned.”

“But you don't know. There is too much uncertainty in this,” Frodo sighed, “you make me want to leave this place at once!”

“I think that would be unwise,” Halbarad said quietly.

“It is very dangerous out there now, sir,” Hanseed said, “and going out into the Wild in haste is recipe for disaster.”

“There are protections here,” Aglaril said, “many that you do not know about. No, you are safer here than in the greatest fortress of men."

“Besides, a hobbit among hobbits is harder to find than a hobbit alone in a waste,” Hanseed nodded.

“I understand it would be dangerous for myself, but I will go out there, if I can prevent harm falling on my friends and fellow hobbits,” Frodo said sternly. The Rangers looked unhappy.

"Mr. Baggins, I beg you stay here for the present, at any rate. We will not be idle. There are certain people that we can contact. People who will know better how to protect you. But they cannot do that if you walk out of the Shire and get yourself killed on the road. Do you understand?" Frodo shook his head.

“No. And I feel so restless about it. And that's leaving everything to you people."

“I think for now you must leave your future to others," Halbarad said. Frodo pondered this. At last he sighed.

“Oh, I suppose waiting and doing this properly is better than going off in a random direction,” Frodo said. “And besides, I do have an old friend who will perhaps visit me again. And he would come to Bag End to find me. He does have a wonderful knack for showing up when he’s most needed and least expected.” He smiled, though he still felt very unsettled.

<>O<>O<>O<>

Sam sank back against the wall, terrified and full of doubt. He was wedged into a small space at the back of Merry's closet. He'd thought there was a chance that the inn's insulated walls would not be quite so thick in the deepest recesses of the closest, and the it looked to share a wall with the room next door. He'd reasoned right. He could just barely make out the conversation on the other side. Merry had initially come in with him, but his ears weren't as sharp as Sam's and it was much more uncomfortable with two hobbits squeezed into the space, so Merry had after a time, retreated.

Now, after hearing all he had, Sam was rooted to the spot, his heart hammering. Frodo's safety and his future peace rested on what his enemies may have said to others, and if some word of him had got out, then his only hope came from mysterious outsiders? It was too much to be borne.   
  
_After all this, doesn't he deserve to live in peace?_ Sam thought, angry, _He's had his adventure, as it were. He ought to be done!_   He caught his breath, stilling, _But how could he be, if he still has that ring, and there's more of those creatures and evil things out there, looking for such things?_  And Frodo might have fooled those Rangers and that Bounder into believing he was settled with waiting, but Sam knew he was afraid. He wanted to go to Frodo, talk to him about it, and tell him outright that if Frodo wanted to leave then he need only say when, and Sam would be with him, keeping him alive no matter what those Rangers said.   
  
_I could do that_ , Sam thought, but regretfully rejected the idea. Merry was right. If they told Frodo what they knew, then he might become very desperate. The fact that they knew about the ring, would mean that they might be in nearly as much danger as Frodo himself. And it would be clear then that they all meant to come with him. If Frodo judged the danger to be too great, then he very well could slip off one night, thinking it the only way to prevent them following after. Especially if he acted in haste.  
  
_He will do all in his power to save us. It’s just his nature. Even if that means breaking our hearts; even breaking my heart. He’d do it, I think, if he thought he was saving our lives. If he thought it was the only option left to him._  
  
_But I won’t abide that. I won’t let him go alone. Even if he thinks I’m faithless for spying on him, I must do it. I can’t stop whatever is coming, but I must do everything in my power to see that he is not alone._  
  
And wasn’t that what Gandalf told his father all those years ago? Frodo must not face this strange trouble alone. And he’d said it like more than Frodo’s life hung in the balance. Like the dark calamities that swept across the people in tales could fall down on the world once more. Sam was taken by a vision of the Shire drowned like old Gondolin, and everyone and everything that he loved was washed down in a tangle of death and debris until there was only silence and stillness, where once there had been ringing laughter and joy.  
  
_This is a serious business, whether it’s only his life risked or everyone in the world. It's bigger than what I want and what I need. That is clear enough._ Sam breathed out. _And so I must spy on my dearest._ Sam felt a tears roll down his cheek, _this is my duty, and I’ll have to risk it, just like I had to risk hurting him by speaking my mind. He met me with love then. I don’t know if he will for this, but still, it must be done, I think. S_ am sniffed and folded himself down into a ball.  
  
_If he’s hurt by it and even if he’s not, I’ll beg for his forgiveness. I think he'll understand why I did it. And in the meantime, I will do what I may to show him how much I love him._  
  
_I think, that’s all I can do._

Sam sat a few more minutes, crying, until he gathering himself, and wiped his face, before he crawled back out into the main room. Merry, Fatty and Pippin were in there, silent, as he emerged. Their faces were grim as they gazed at him. Sam thought it likely that his eyes were still red from the crying, but even so, he met their gazes.   
  
"I think," he said quietly, "we're only getting started with this Conspiracy. There's a fair amount of darkness ahead, from what I can see."  
  
"Sam," Pippin murmured.   
  
"Whatever is ahead. We're in this together," Merry assured him.   
  
"What did they say?" Fatty asked. Sam went to them, sitting on the bed, and told them all that he'd heard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it’s not clear, the tower that the goblin was speaking on was Orthanc- Saruman's base. The Rangers, though, assume the tower must be Barad-dûr, in Mordor, since they and everyone else doesn't suspect Saroman's treachery yet, if they know of him at all. Tower misunderstandings are just going to happen in Middle Earth. So many bad towers.
> 
> Volund is written to be a servant of Saruman- but I didn't write him to be a capital W Wizard, at least not a extra magic being like Gandalf and Saruman. He's just a magic man. Maybe some of that Numenorean magic. 
> 
> A note about the creatures:  
> These dead creatures are written to be draugar- dead bodies possessed by corrupt spirits. They are related to the Norse creatures that are the base for the Barrowights. So, I wrote these things to be cousins of barrowwights, dead creatures not tied to a barrow, but still very much in the service of the Witch King- leader of the Ringwraiths. (I did a drawing of one from the chapter where they break into Bag End, from back when I was picturing them more as ghostly things and less solid. It’s [here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/0pmwrsbqdvhzxao/s19.jpg?raw=1) )
> 
> The false elves are also working for the Witch King, I just don’t have any canon or Norse mythology material to draw from with them. Admittedly, they were written be a Sam trap. 
> 
> The Wargs are from the same set of wolves that stalk the Fellowship before they reach Moria, but only part of that larger pack. Those wolves were working for Mordor, or at least Gandalf said they were.
> 
> The creatures and Volund were not working together- just as Volund said. There seems to be some competition/mistrust between Saruman's servants and the Mordor folks, even by the time of Two Towers. Seems to make sense that they would not work closely together earlier on too.


End file.
